D-Set: Trouble Never Comes Alone
by HazardouZ-Ink
Summary: Six talented teenagers have faced adversity on countless occasions in their lives. After some unpleasant run-ins, they plot retaliation of epic proportions. With a bizarre chance of luck, the posse begins a conquest of the music world, all while fighting through their own problems; united and divided. *Rated T for Language, Violence, Crude Humor, and Suggestive Dialogue.*
1. P: Who Would've Thought?

_**SALUTATIONS, ALL YOU MANIACS OUT THERE! This is HazardouZ Ink back for the first time in a LOOOOOOONG time.**_ _ **Well, DAYUM! It's about TIME I uploaded somethin', ain't it? Sorry for the wait, you guys...or guy...or whoever the hell decides to stumble upon this atrocity I call a story. I wanted to upload some chapters sooner, but the urge to make sure it's done right from beginning to end outweighed the urge to put out something quick. Quality over quantity, ladies and gentlemen (just wish the rest of the world could figure that out -_-**_ _ **).**_

 _ **Anyways, I'd like to welcome you all (or one) to the beginning of the music based fan story simply dubbed "D-SET." This story is gonna take you on the roller-coaster ride of 6 underdogs as the fight their way to the top and leave the world slack-jawed in amazement. The group of 6 teenagers, which consists of Huey Duck, Dewey Duck, Louie Duck, Max Goof, PJ Pete, and Bobby Zimmeruski, will go through many ups and downs as a crew AND individually. Throughout the story, you will see what goes on in each character's personal life, as well as get glimpses of moments in their lives (dark and light) that shaped them into the young men you'll soon get accustomed to. You will laugh and cry (or not), but you will ultimately enjoy this story. So sit back, relax and enjoy the show...er...story. Just read, damnit. -_-**_

* * *

 **Who Would've Thought?**

 _No method to the madness, and no means of escape  
Gonna break every rule or bend them all outta shape  
It ain't a question of "how", just a matter of when  
You get the message that I'm tryin' to send_

 _-Powerline_

 **Duckburg, Calisota**

5:30 PM PST. At long last, the gates to Duckburg Stadium have open, signifying the beginning of one of many of pop icon Powerline's "High Voltage" World Tour dates. Over 55,000 anxious patrons and counting were quickly fill up the stadium and patiently wait for the show to begin. As the fans take their seats, many of which already beginning to order refreshments for the show, the city of Duckburg was finally going to get their turn to witness a performance that would blow their minds away. Considering this show would be for one night only, fans from all over Calisota traveled to Duckburg to make certain they wouldn't this spectacle would not pass them by. Be that as it may, THIS city's tour date is a bit more special than the locations before it, as well as those that lie ahead. Duckburg just happened to have a unique connection to a certain act directly related to the ongoing tour. A crew of talented, ambitious young men united with one common goal, and they have caused such a stir in the entertainment industry that many found it hard to ignore their presence; whether they liked it or not. With their boisterous sound, this posse of musicians has not only struck fear and disgust in the hearts of conservative adults, and excitement and hope in the hearts of an entire generation of rebellious youngsters (much like themselves). This is a clique that silenced the teases, taunts, slanders, and laughter of naysayers that have plagued them since their early childhood. A teenage fraternity that used their own infamous reputation as a platform to aid in their conquest, and to rise above frightening odds. That group is known far and wide as **D-Set**.

As a crowd full of thousands continued to wait their turn to go inside, a tour bus coincidently carrying D-Set as passengers slowly pulled up to the arena. The several fans outside went into a frenzy of excitement behind the barricades as they watched the bus cruise by. The members of the band couldn't help but watch in awe from the inside of the bus. "Bruuuuh! Look at how many of 'em are waiting outside!" said Bobby Zimmeruski, one of the six 14-year-old members of D-Set. "That's what I'M sayin', man. I can only imagine what the inside is like! Lilly _told us_ this place would be packed! I thought she was just yankin' us, at first," said Louie Duck. The group's leader, Huey Duck, shook his head and smirked, "After all this time, they still don't get the picture. C'mon, guys. It's US we're talkin' about here. Why the hell are you so surprised?" Dewey Duck, the second-in-command of the group, decided to deflate his arrogant brother's ego by retorting, "Yeah, Hue. 'Cause the concert has absolutely NOTHING to do with the headliner. As a matter of fact, they're all just standing there for their health…and to serve as our welcoming committee…to a city we were born and raised in." "Oh, piss…ALL THE WAY off, Dew. You DO remember they all have to go through US before they see Powerline, right? If you ask me, the crowd's gettin' a double dose of badassery," Huey smugly replied. "Correction, genius: They have to go through SECURITY before they get to Powerline. And I'm sure they'll get their asses handed to them on a silver platter when they try. Hue, I knew you were a few pickles short of a full jar but damn," Dewey joked. Huey responded by flipping his brother off, "Hater."

Another member of D-Set, Max Goof, was beginning to become impatient. This was partially due to his own excitement to start the show, as well as his annoyance with another one of many arguments between the Duck brothers. Max massaged his forehead and grumbled, " _Here we go again with the ego trips_. Hey. You guys mind doin' us the simple favor of…well, I dunno… GETTING OFF THE BUS?!" "Can't. Won't. This beast is still in motion, bruddah," Bobby commented. Louie added, "Don't trip over it, Max. It's cool. We can only go as far as the bus takes us, man." Max groaned in frustration. "…Ooooor, if you'd like, we could just let you hang off the side of the bus. Hell, you can even give 'fives' n' handshakes to the fans as we pass by," Dewey nonchalantly stated. "Are you KIDDING ME, right now?" "Well, he didn't say NO! Lou, grab the rope from my bunk." "Louie, I swear if you even THINK of going through with this, I PROMISE your ass will be kicked from here to New York. There WILL be a fight," Max scowled. Louie hopped from his seat and smirked with his arms folded replying, "Oh! You wanna take it there, huh?" "I did just say 'from here to New York.' How far are you willing to go?" the canine replied with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. Dewey replied as he also rose from his seat, "Well, I wish you the VERY best of luck, mi amigo. Keep in mind you'll be outnumbered; 2 to one." "THREE to one if _I_ start gettin' antsy," Huey added. "Ah. So THAT'S how you wanna play, huh? Maybe it won't be so funny after I call the 'HEAVYWEIGHT SAVAGE!'" Max summoned. However, he got no response other than Bobby saying, "I'm not so heavy but you know I'm sittin' right here, right?" "Precisely my point, Bobby." Bobby frowned at Max's response. "Like I said; Let me get the 'HEAVYWEIGHT SAVAGE' up in here!" Max yelled. Still, there was no response. Max growled, "Be right back," and stormed to the back of the bus. "Bringing in reinforcements to compensate for your lack of nuts; Gotcha," Huey teased as he skimmed through a magazine. "What are you talkin' about, bro? Louie brought a whole jar of 'em before we left," Bobby reassured. Max, Dewey and Huey all shook their heads in confusion as Louie hunched his shoulders.

Once he made it to berthing, Max pulled back the drapes to one of the bunks. Just as he suspected, he found his best friend napping in his bed. Fortunately, Max knew just what to do to get his attention. "WAKE UP, PJ!" Max yelled from the top of his lungs directly into round cat's ear. Adding insult to injury, Max snatched PJ by his shirt and pulled him out of his bunk onto the floor (a miraculous feat considering their size difference). "Rrrrrgh! What the hell, Max?!" PJ groaned, albeit through muffled words. "Dude, get up," said Max, "We made it to the stadium and we're about to go on stage. You're gonna make us late if you sleep in." "How long ago did we make to back to Duckburg?" PJ mumbled. "About 15 minutes ago, Peej! The show's about to start!" "Wait…WHAT?!" PJ jumped to his feet in shock and grabbed rest of his clothes. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WE WERE HERE, MAN?! OH, CRAP!" "Welp, looks like PJ's finally up," Dewey calmly commented from the front of the bus. PJ scrambled to put his clothes on and frantically sped to the front of the bus. "Next time, give m10-minutenute heads-up, guys! What's the deal?!" Not taking much forethought into the situation, PJ subconsciously made his way to the exit. "PJ! WAIT!" Max yelled. "KID, WHAT ARE YA DOIN'?! STOP!" cried the bus driver. PJ somehow managed to open the door of the bus in his frenzy…while the bus was still in motion. Max and Bobby flashed to the exit and grabbed PJ before tragedy struck. "NOT COOL! PULL BACK, BRAH!" cried Bobby, holding tightly to PJ as he dangled on the edge. "PEEJ! GET BACK IN HERE! ARE YOU FRIGGIN' RETARDED?!" Max yelled. Louie was on the edge of his seat in shock, while Huey was shaking his head in frustration. Dewey, however, was on the deck of the bus, nearly breathless with laughter saying, "I'm not gonna answer that question!"

Finally, the bus reached its stopping point near the stadium. Once PJ was back inside the bus safe and sound, Max decided to clarify his previous statements. "Jesus, Peej. You were a funeral waiting to happen. We're at the stadium and the show's gonna start soon, sure enough. I never said, _'It's time to get off the bus'_ though," said Max. "Thanks a lot, Max. I really appreciate you shedding light this information AFTER I ALMOST BECAME ROADKILL!" PJ irritably retorted. "Aw, tone it down, man. We saved ya, didn't we? BARELY succeeded, mind you, but still. And you said Cheddar Whiz was bad for my health," Bobby reassured. "Got me there. We would've caught hell trying to keep Ms. P off our throats, let alone finding another bassist," Louie added. Dewey finally gathered his senses and commented, "Oh, stop sobbing, you pansies. PJ's a big boy. He could've ridden that wave. If anything, it probably would've felt like we were going over a speed bump. Maybe it'd give us an idea of what the bus would be like if it had a hydraulics system." "God, you're such an asshole sometimes, Dewey," PJ groaned, facepalming. Huey walked over and pat his friend on the shoulder saying, "If anything, I'll say this; you've got enthusiasm. You somehow found a way to open the friggin' door without the driver's help. Bus was still truckin' and you're ready to hop off," Huey laughed, "Nobody's gonna stop you from getting to the show. Now, THAT'S what I call MOTIVATION…or stupidity; whatever comes first." "Screw. Each. And every one of you," PJ snapped, causing the group to burst into laughter.

"Alright, guys. Let's get focused here," said one of their chaperones and fill-in band members. "Remember we got a show to do. It's cool if to get hype, n' all, but don't get side-tracked. Feel me?" said the other chaperon and band member. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. 'Stop having fun.' You guys insist on being buzzkills this whole tour, dontcha?" said Huey. As he looked through a window of the bus, Huey couldn't help but feel proud by the amount of supporters he, his brothers, and his friends have garnered through their trials and tribulations. He then looked towards his bandmates, who returned humble smirks and confident nods. Try as he did to keep a cool demeanor, Huey could no longer contain the smile that crept on his face. To think that six teens from Duckburg made the transition from being a clique of unknowns to becoming celebrities and hometown heroes was something unheard of. It was a transition that occurred so quickly that it almost became a blur, but respect and success did not come overnight, contrary to what many would think. It was well earned.

In the midst of D-Set's reflected on their rise to glory, the door of the tour bus finally opened and large, muscular bear with a black shirt and khakis signaled for the riders to depart. "Alright. D-Set and crew, it's time to roll. We're gonna need you guys to form a single-file line when you step outta the bus. For your safety, we highly recommend that you stay close to us, alright?" said the bodyguard. Huey, Dewey, Louie, Max, PJ, Bobby and two chaperones rose from their seats. "Gentlemen," said Huey as he smiled and casually donned his trademark designer shades, "Let's cause some chaos. Squad UP!" The bandmates cheered and chattered ecstatically as they exited the bus. Upon setting foot on the pavement, the group was greeted with wails of happiness and well-wishes from the crowd. As they approached the entrance of the arena, barely able to hear themselves think, the gang coincidentally shared a single sentiment:

 _Man. It kinda gives me goosebumps thinking about how this all started…_

* * *

 _ **Damn Cliffhangers! Sorry, people but I had to. That's about all the time I have for this episode of D-Set. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it. Mind you; this submission is only as the prolog. So don't get TOO excited, people. The best and worst (for the characters, that is) is yet to come. As previously mentioned in the description, this story will have some PG-13 content, including Language (as I'm sure you've noticed by now), Crude Humor (as I'm sure you've noticed by now), Some Violence and Suggestive Dialogue. But I figured I'd inform you anyway, just in case you didn't get the memo. Be sure to spread this around like a rumor or a sickness. Constructive criticism is always welcome. With that being said, thanks for reading. Means more than you think. Dueces!**_


	2. Ch 1: School Dayz

_**SUP, Ladies and Gents. It's HazardouZ-Ink with another submission to D-Set: Trouble Never Comes Alone. It's time for a blast from the past, so strap in tight!**_

* * *

 **School Dayz**

 ** _Several Months Earlier,_**

The largest city in Calisota was experiencing the daybreak of a brand new morning. Mere minutes before the seventh hour, a beautiful sunrise poured over the metropolis of Duckburg. The sun's radiant beams of light pierced through the morning mist, reflected off every corporate high rise in the metropolis, lit up the darkest of alleys in the city's slums, and eventually made their way into the streets of humble suburbia. Birds proceeded to chirp melodies that echoed from every treetop. The citizens of Duckburg hustle and bustle through the city, rushing to punch the clock with punctuality. Automobiles maneuvered inch by inch in the ever-growing morning traffic jam. Nevertheless, it was time for businesses and schools to open to begin yet another industrious day.

 *****Duck Residence*****

 _"GOOOOOOOOD MORNING, DUCKBURG! IT'S THE TOP OF THE HOUR: 7 AM ON WDSY 101.7 FM! TIME TO WAKE UP! SO, SHAKE THE CRUST OUTTA THOSE EYES, CHUG THAT CUP O' JOE, N' LET'S GET THIS PARTY STA-"_

 _*CLICK*_

Off goes the alarm. The lively vocals of the radio personality have served as a wake-up call for many listeners of the local Duckburg radio station. However, for a group of teenagers in the small suburban home of the Duck residence, it was nothing but an annoyance. This day was particularly more aggravating than the others, considering it was the first day of their last year in Duckburg Jr. High. If this school year was anything like the previous years, Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck were subject to endure yet another term of excruciating assignments, uneventful classes, distasteful instructors, and peers with ill intentions. With those ideas in mind, Huey was less than ecstatic to begin the first day. So, he decided to lie back down and resume his slumber. Louie, the youngest and most energetic of the brothers, had already awakened an hour before the alarm clock rang and chose to start his day. Before his brothers rose from their slumber, Louie quietly rolled out of his make-shift bed, crept out of the attic and made his way to the bathroom. He made it a mission to always be first to shower, as there was a "special routine" he would partake in each morning. What was it? Not even his family knew the answer.

Dewey Duck groggily woke from his sleep 10 minutes after the alarm went off. Despite sharing the same lack of excitement as his still snoozing brother, Dewey decided to swallow his pride and force himself out of bed. He scratched his head and made his way to the bathroom with clothes in hand to freshen up. As he made his way down the hallway, a loud but muffled song jammed behind the bathroom door. Although the song was playing at glass-shattering volume, it was a highly tolerable pop hit. As the song's powerful chords accompanied the energetic beat, the singer used his powerful vocals to stake his claim and make a bold statement.

 _"STAND OUT! Above the crowd_

 _Even if I gotta shout out loud_

 _Till mine is the only face you see_

 _I'm gonna Staaaaaaand Out…_

 _Till you notice me"_

As enjoyable as the tune was, Dewey noticed a subtle difference in the audio quality (aside from the obvious fact that the song was playing behind an enclosed room). He noticed that the incredible vocals seemed to be duplicated in the exact same pitches, but the tone of one of the vocals had a stark difference. It was all most as if there was another…Nah! Dewey shook the thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand: taking a shower. He banged on the wooden door and yelled, "Lou!" The volume of the music quickly dropped to near silence. "Yeah," Louie responded from the other side. "Dude, what the hell is taking you so long to finish up? You drownin' in there? Doin' your make-up or somethin'?" Dewey queried. Louie growled in frustration and turned off the radio. "HEY! AM I SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR THE _DOOR_ TO GIVE ME FRIGGIN' ANSWER?! HURRY THE HELL…" The bathroom door suddenly flew open, and a cloud of steam seeped from the aperture. Louie stood there scowling, fully clothed and smelling fresh as a rose. "…up." Dewey finished. "All yours," Louie flatly stated. Dewey wasn't shaken by his brother's scowl, and as he walked in the bathroom he retorted, "Geez, it took long enough." Louie just shook his head and made his way to the kitchen.

The head of the household and the boys' legal guardian, Donald Duck, was preparing a breakfast that consisted of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Louie decided to get first dibs like he always did. "Mornin', Uncle D," he greeted. "Good morning, Louie," Donald replied, "Sleep alright?" "Yeah. At least I slept about as well as I could with two guys snoring and gassin' it up in the same room." "You'd better fight fire with fire, next time," Donald joked, "Speaking of which, where are the other two anyway?" Between bites, Louie responded, "Dewey kicked me outta the bathroom a few minutes ago, so he's takin' a shower," He bit into a slice of toast and continued, "As for Huey, I think he's still out cold. Don't quote me on that, though." With that last tidbit of information, Donald's temper immediately went from 0 to 100. "HE'S OUT COLD?!" He yelled, "IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, AND HE'S ALREADY PULLING THIS BULLSHIT?!" Donald reached into the kitchen cupboards and drawers, and he emerged with a large frying pan and a metallic spoon seconds later. "Ummm…what are you gonna do with those?" Louie asked with a hint of uneasiness, to which Donald bluntly replied, "End hibernation." As Donald stormed towards the attic armed with his weapons, Louie continued eating and thought, _"This won't end well. Can't say he didn't have it coming to him, though."_

Donald crept into the attic and found his eldest nephew sleeping in as Louie suspected. Once he approached Huey's bed, Donald yelled, "ALRIGHT, BUSTER! UP N' AT 'EM!"

* _CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!*_

Huey's brain was rattled with the sound of two metallic utensils clashing.

* _CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!*_

"ALRIGHT! I'M UP! DAMN!" Huey angrily exclaimed. He threw back is covers in a huff and irritably climbed out of bed, looking a ragged mess. "Time's a-wastin'! Get the lead outta your ass and get to school!" Donald yelled as he continued to bang the skillet like a drum. Huey growled and stomped his way to shower up, pushing Dewey to the side just as he exited the bathroom. "You finally awake, Sunshine?" Dewey teased. "Blow me," Huey hissed before slamming the door.

20 minutes later, breakfast was consumed and the boys prepared to head to their bus stop. Dewey and Louie were ready to depart but had to wait on Huey. "What's taking him so long?" Louie groaned. "I dunno. Probably tryin' to figure out what dress to wear, since he's actin' like a little…" "Say it, n' I'll kick your teeth in," Huey called from behind them, sporting a highly evident glare. "What? I was only gonna say 'girl,'" Dewey fibbed. Huey ignored him and walked out the front door grumbling, "Let's get this shit show over with." "Good to see you're excited too, bro!" Dewey grinned as he and Louie made their way to the bus stop.

 *****Goof Residence*****

Having just shut off his alarm at 7:00, Max yawned audibly and stretched in his bed. It was a start of a brand new school year…of the same old stuff. At school, Max didn't seem to make much progress amongst his peers from a social perspective. Since Max was a small child, he was always looked at like an embarrassment or a freak to kids his age and older. Needless to say, Max's back was against the wall, and the odds were still stacked against him after so many years. THIS year was going to be different, however. This was Max's last year of junior high school before moving into the "big leagues." He was going to make damn sure that he would break the repetition of mediocrity. Max would join a band and flaunt his skills as an aspiring guitarist. He would get the respect of his peers he was consistently deprived of. And at long last, he would gain the attention of his elementary school crush, Roxanne. YES! Max was going to go out with a bang, this term. For the moment, he had to rid himself of the stigma that would surely prevent him from accomplishing his goals; dragon's breath and body odor.

After freshening himself up, Max threw on his rather modest attire; a plain red hoodie, blue jeans, and black sneakers. It wasn't as fashionable as the threads of his fellow students at the school, let alone most kids from neighborhoods all across Duckburg, but it was the most affordable clothes his father Goofy could provide. Max got dressed and went downstairs to grab a bite to eat. He made it to the kitchen and flicked light switch to illuminate his path. However, the kitchen was still enveloped in darkness, the only light being the sun rays gleaming through the window. "Mornin' son!" Goofy cheerfully said as he walked into the kitchen. Max looked back and replied, "Mornin', pop. Hey, do you know if we have any more light bulbs? I think the lights blew out." "Afraid that ain't the case, Maxie," Goofy responded, "Looks like the ceilin' fan died out last night." "Hm. That sucks. I guess I'll just get a bowl of…" "Not to worry. I'll have this baby up n' runnin' in no time!" Goofy proudly proclaimed as he walked in with a ladder. In the midst of his stroll, Goofy knocked over plates, ceramic jars, and glasses. "Whoops. Coulda swore I put those up. Guess they needed more time to dry. A-hyuck!" He said. "Dad, don't you think it would better to just call an electrician to fix this?" Max nervously asked. "Aw, nonsense. I'll fix this up in a jiffy." With that, Goofy proceeded to dismantle the ceiling fan, leaving Max to scramble to catch the pieces he was dropping. Thereafter, Goofy began to aimlessly troubleshoot the causes of the kitchen's "blackout." However, in that instant, Max suddenly made a shocking realization that could cause more damage than Goofy could fix. "Hey, Dad did you remember to turn off the…"

 _*KTZZZZZZZZZZZZ!*_

Too late. Goofy had neglected to secure the breaker switch correlated to the affected ceiling light. As a result, Goofy found himself getting electrocuted. Max yelled, "DAD! HOLD ON!" He rushed to shut off the light switch, but he consequently watched as his father crash to the ground after the buzz. "Dad, are you alright?!" Max asked, shaking his father back to consciousness. "I guess the fan's still alive n' kickin', after all. A-hyuck," Goofy wearily commented. Max only sighed at yet another one of his father's many blunders. He took a look at the clock and noticed that time had flown faster than Goofy did to the floor. "Er…Look, pop. I've gotta get to school, so I'm just gonna grab some Pop-Tarts n' split. You…um…you be careful with fan, okay?" Max said as he grabbed a pack of toaster pastries. "See ya later, Maxie. Have a good day!" Goofy cheered. _"I'll definitely try, but no promises."_ Max thought.

Things would be different this school year, and Max would be sure to solidify that vision. Yet he still had another obstacle standing in his way; his father. Well, it was more of the reputation that followed the man compared to the man himself. Max knew Goofy loved him dearly and wished the best for him, but Goofy's absent-mindedness and his penchant for causing blunders and mishaps have caused citizens of his former home, Spoonerville, and his new home of Duckburg MORE than a few outrages. It was a stigma that somehow rubbed off on his only son, although the two were as different as day and night. Nevertheless, Max was dedicated to breaking the cycle and earning a reputation that would bring pride to the family. And so, as he grabbed his skateboard and stepped out the front door of his home, Max set out to begin his teenage years anew.

 *****Pete Residence*****

 _*BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!*_

7:00 AM. This was the first hour of the day that signified the end of a glorious summer vacation. Well, "glorious" seemed to have been an overstatement for Peter Pete Jr, informally known as PJ. Over the past 3 months, PJ seemed to be suckered into doing not only the mandatory grunt work around the house, but he was also (against his will) helping with his father Pete with the upkeep of his used auto lot. In addition, he often had to bring his 7-year-old sister Pistol when his parents were busy or away. To relieve himself of the workload, he tried to get out of the house and hang with his friends as much as possible. When he WASN'T able to leave, he would at least play video games or practicing licks on his bass guitar (spending probably more time with the latter). Unfortunately, that solace that he desperately sought and seldom acquired over the summer break had come to its resounding end. PJ got out of bed quite reluctantly and forcefully. "Geez. Was one more month too much to ask for? Or at least send Pistol to the circus when I begged Mom and Dad to do," PJ whined as he looked to the ceiling, complaining to a higher power.

It took 20 minutes for PJ to freshen up and get dressed. His stomach was roaring and he was looking forward to taming the beast within. Before he could make his way to the staircase, however, he was attacked from behind by an unrestrained ball of energy in pigtails; Pistol Pete. "PJ! PJ! It's the first day of school! Are you ready for it?! I'M ready for it! I wonder who classmates are gonna be? I wonder who my new teacher's gonna be? Who's gonna be your new teacher? Is Max gonna be in your class? Do you think daddy's still mad at you 'cause you failed that math test last year? Huh? Huh? Huh?" The name "Pistol" seemed to be inaccurate. The little feline was firing off questions with the speed and devastation of an AK-47. As Pistol hung off her older brother's back like a rag doll, PJ sighed and said, "Let's see if I can answer this grocery list worth of questions you just gave me. Ahem. No, I'm not ready. You are; Good for you. Um…You and I aren't in the same grade OR school, so whoever your guess for teacher and classmates are is just as good as mind." PJ started walking downstairs with his baby sister still clenching onto him, "I've got a schedule of who my teachers are, and I'm not looking forward to ANY of 'em. On the plus side, Yes; Max and a few of my friends DO share a few classes with me. So hopefully, we'll keep each other entertained. And last but not least, Dad SHOULDN'T be mad still. I was pretty much his slave for most of the summer, so if THAT didn't calm him down, nothin' will. Did I catch all of 'em?" "Oooooh! You ARE getting better!" Pistol giggled. "I've had plenty of years of practice after you started speaking," PJ replied.

PJ and Pistol were enticed by the sight of a well-prepared breakfast upon setting foot in the kitchen; the sweet scent of cinnamon rolls; the sizzle of freshly cooked bacon; the fluffiness of eggs cooked to perfection; glasses filled with tangy orange juice. This was the beginning of what would soon be a murder scene. The Pete family would be the culprits, and the delectable feast that sat before them would be their unfortunate victim. "Good morning, my little sweethearts," said Peg Pete, a real estate agent and mother to PJ and Pistol. "Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad," the two offspring greeted. "Yeah. Mornin'," replied their father Peter Pete Sr., a used automobile salesman. "So, are you ready for you first day, PJ?" asked Peg. "Well, not really. Kinda wish I had a bit more time to…" "You wanna say that again?" Pete asked threateningly as he lowered his newspaper, completely interrupting his son's answer. The sinister look in his father's eyes made PJ tremble a little, but he knew refraining from answering Pete would lead to dire consequences. "Um, w-well sir, it's just that I've been busy with…" "Busy?! You think YOU were busy?! Hmph! When I was your age I already had a summer job cuttin' grass n' washin' the grass off of cars for extra money! Kids these days don't know the meaning of hard work!" Pete argued. "I-I just wanted to see my friends a little bit more this summer. That's the only thing I meant, sir," PJ commented. "And THAT brings up my NEXT point. Consider yourself lucky that you were, as you say, 'BUSY.' Kept ya outta trouble hangin' with those hooligan triplets, that surfer bum with the bad hairdo, and ESPECIALLY that damned GOOF kid!" PJ's moral was crushed more than it was over the summer. "That's probably what caused you to fail that math test last year. So, don't give me any excuses. You're goin' to school and you're gonna knock all those classes, tests and homework assignments outta the park, see?! And if you even bring so much as a C- home, not even Alcatraz will compare to the lockdown you're gonna get! GOT IT?!"

By this point, the lady of the household was beginning to lose her patience. And when Peg loses her patience, along goes the ability to hold her tongue. She slammed her hands on the table and said, "WILL you put a SOCK IN IT, YOU HYPOCRITICAL NIMROD?!" The family's attention immediately went to Peg in that instant. Pete knew for sure he was in for another tongue lashing. "You CANNOT be serious! Are you really gonna sit here and try to justify robbing your son of his free time JUST SO YOU COULD HAVE A FEW DAYS TO GO FISHING?!" "But Honey Bunny, a little bit of summer labor teaches these kids about work ethic," Pete contested. Peg was far from amused by Pete's excuse. "Sure, if you call 'LETTING YOUR SON RUN YOUR BUSINESS WITHOUT RECEIVING A DIME' TEACHING WORK ETHIC!" Pistol looked in awe as the two bickered, whereas PJ ate his food as quickly as possible to spare himself of his parents' anger. The two seemed to be arguing MUCH more than they usually were, but PJ decided to take full advantage of the dispute just this once.

 _*DING DONG*_

 _"Whew. My saving grace!"_ thought PJ. He grabbed his backpack, rushed to the living room and opened to door to find his neighbor and best friend Max waiting for him. "Hey! What's crackin', Max?" PJ warmly greeted, exchanging a special handshake with his buddy. "Sup, Peej. Ready to bounce?" "Oh, GOD Yes," PJ desperately replied, listening to his mother yelling in the distance. He figured it would be best to just grab his skateboard and sneak out while they were preoccupied. "Don't know how happy I am that you showed up, Max. It was getting heated in there, dude," he said. "Well, it can't be any worse than electrocution by way of a jacked up ceiling fan," Max commented. "Lemme guess; Mr. G?" "Yep." "Didn't shut off the breaker?" "Nope." "Did you volunteer to change the light bulbs?" "Yep." "Didn't listen, did he?" "Nope." PJ shook his head after hearing every response and sighed, "Well, at least you tried." "That's all I could do, PJ," Max replied, "Sometimes it feels like it's a lost cause, though." "Speak for BOTH of us, dude. My dad's trippin' already, and the school year technically hasn't even started yet. All that work I did this summer and he STILL feels like I'm not pulling my weight." "Then again, you have to consider this; you're a big boy, Peej. You've got quite a bit of weight to pull," Max joked as he hopped on his skateboard. "I've got just the right weight to burn you on the way to school." PJ snapped. Max confidently responded, "Challenge accepted." On that note, the race to the start of 8th grade began between the two comrades.

Yes, it seemed these five young gentlemen were reluctant to experience yet another year of mediocrity and agony, thanks to the Duckburg Education System and it's none too favorable student and faculty body. Despite it being the last year they would have to suffer at Duckburg Jr. High School, the future looked as bleak and dull as the past. Surely, nothing good would come to change their perspective on the school days ahead…

…Or could it?

* * *

 _ **Nothing much to report in this chapter. Just the gang dealing with morning sickness. And by SICKNESS, I mean sick of the B.S. that D-Burg Jr. High has been giving them... and** **school hasn't technically started yet! First** **day's always the worst day. lol**_

 _ **Be sure to spread this around like a sickness. Constructive criticism will make me a happy, industrious pup. With that being said, thanks for dropping by. Means more than you think. Dueces and best wishes to you n yours!**_


	3. Ch 2: Lunch Lines

_**Hey diddly-ho, neighbors! It's Hazardouz-Ink back with another chapter of D-Set: Trouble Never Comes Alone! Been a second since the last chapter, hasn't it? Sorry for the late update, ladies and gents. Honestly, I was busy and trying to pull myself out of an internal slump. To tell the truth, the previous 2 weeks were a combination of working to pay bills, figuring things out with myself personally, and getting my ass absolutely SLAUGHTERED online in Tekken Tag 2. But I'm back at it, and to make it up to you, I'm going to try to have a weekly update for each chapter this month...at least up until Chapter 5 or 6. But enough of all that nonsense. Let's get on with the story, shall we?**_

* * *

 **Lunch Lines**

 _3 Weeks Later_

 **Duckburg Jr. High- Cafeteria**

"Oh, B.S.! I won that last round and you know it!" said Dewey as he proceeded through the lunch line with his tray. "Admit it, Dew. You just couldn't keep up with me this time. The deal was whoever lost that round 'the rhyming game' has to do the winner's laundry for the next 2 weeks. You slipped up, so now you gotta pay the piper!" replied Huey. "Like hell! There's no WAY I'm doin' your laundry, even if you held a knife to my throat!" Dewey snapped. Huey shook his head in disappointment and teased, "What a shame. Poor guy just can't face the facts," "If these so called 'facts' are 'Hubert Duck is NOT a habitual cheater and ISN'T completely full of shit', then y'know what? You're right. You're absolutely right. I refuse to believe it!" Dewey retorted. "What? Moi? A CHEATER! Psh! Lies and balderdash, my delusional gentleman!" Huey said, covering up an obvious fib by pretending to be appalled, "Never have I resorted to such petty, primitive tactics." Louie interjected, "Wait, what about that time in Mrs. Fink's class when you-Oof!" "Shut the hell up, Lou. That one was a freebie," Huey mumbled in annoyance, jabbing his brother. "YOUR FACE is a friggin' freebie," Louie retorted, rubbing his arm in pain

"Like I said; I'm not doin' your laundry for you unless this is fair game. I want a rematch," Dewey challenged with a glare in his eyes. Huey couldn't help but grin at the proposition. "Alright. If you wanna be such a pansy about it, then it's game on." Huey looked at the assortment of entrées to find the first word(s) for the game to begin, "Spaghetti n' Meatballs. Go." The middle triplet took a couple of seconds to ponder a suitable rhyme for every syllable, and he finally found one. "Hmm… Confetti in Beach Stalls," he confidently responded. "'CONFETTI IN BEACH STALLS?!' Yo, that made NO sense, whatsoever!" Louie laughed. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lou. If you can do any better, then by all means…" Dewey snapped, which silenced his brother's laughter, "Yeah. That's what I thought. Alright, Hue. Your turn. Let's see…Tuna Casserole. Go." It seemed as though karma was coming back to bite him in the rear end, as Huey was struggling to come up with a suitable rhyme. "There's no shame in throwing in towel, Hue. Clock's ticking," Dewey taunted. "Um… Moon a glass or bowl? Yes? No? Maybe?" replied Huey in uncertainty. "Phhhfft! Hahaha! I take it all back! _THAT_ was the stupidest line I heard all day!" Huey and Dewey glared at their younger sibling as he continued to laugh hysterically at their incoherent doggerels. In that instant, they both decided to set aside their differences and put Louie in his place. "LOU!" the two said in unison. Louie looked at his glaring brothers with a growing, unshakable sense of uneasiness. "Yeah…Wassup?" he asked. "Macaroni and Cheese. Go," Huey and Dewey said monotonously. "Uh…er…um…Macadamian Peas? No! Wait. Pack of Bones-y and Cheese. Nononono, you said 'cheese', already, didn't you? Let's see. Um…" Realizing the baby triplet was struggling to come up with a suitable multisyllabic rhyme, Huey and Dewey smirked deviously, for they knew they had bamboozled Louie. Alas, Louie accepted defeat and sighed, "Pass." "FAAAAAAIIIL!" Dewey teased. Huey co-signed on their victory over Louie by saying, "Tch! Looks like we've got our laundry flunkie for the next two weeks. Just so ya know, I like my whites washed with only a cap-full of bleach. Don't screw it up." "Don't trip too much about it, Lou. I'll try not to leave any skid marks in my boxers, just 'cause I love ya." Dewey added. "You guys suck, you know that?" Louie pouted as he exited the lunch line.

"YO! FREE SEATS! CLAIM 'EM OR LOSE 'EM!" The triplets directed their attention to voice. At a nearby table, they saw a familiar face signaling them to approach. "Thanks for the save, Max," Louie said to his peer as he and his brothers sat at the reserved lunch table. Maximillian "Max" Goof has been close friends with the boys since the 4th grade, despite having first met in the 3rd grade. "So, what's crackin', Max?" Huey asked. "Nothin' major: Dad nearly caused a flood in the bathroom trying to fix a faucet; I dozed off in First and Second period; let's see… I may or may not have passed Mr. Wesker's math test; I got tossed into a dumpster by some high school a-holes last weekend; Oh, and Roxanne still hasn't noticed me, yet. Y'know; Same old story," Max replied nonchalantly. "I dunno, Max. Maybe you just have some sort of weird superpower like invisibility. Or maybe someone put a hex on you. Who knew you had enemies?" another familiar voice teased from behind, which happened to belong to Max's best friend. Max sarcastically replied, "Gee-wilikers, PJ. I can ALWAYS count on you for moral support." "Hey, that's what I'm here for, man," PJ joked.

"Anything new, guys?" PJ asked. Louie shook his head and replied, "Nah. Nothin's new with us," He looked down at his lunch, and couldn't help but feel his as though his appetite was gradually beginning to wane, "Ugh. I sure as hell can't say it's the food, either." "I heard that. Didn't they serve this stuff last week?" P.J. commented, poking at his food with a fork. "It's the EXACT SAME MENU! Either they're runnin' outta supplies or they're runnin' outta ideas. Wouldn't surprise me at all if it's both," Max answered. Dewey added, "I know, right? 'Innovation? Food Poisoning? Bah! Never heard of such nonsense! Dust it off n' reheat, ladies. Screw it! The pellets of rat shit should add some extra seasoning so they won't taste the difference!'" The crew chuckled at the situation, but Huey had not yet thrown in his two cents. He was far from content with this pitiful excuse for daily nutrition. "Y'know what? I gotta speak on this!" said Huey as he sipped on his milk carton. "Aaaw, hell. Does this mean what I think it does?" Dewey questioned with a curious grin. "Damn straight, it does, Dew! When you think about it, this would be the perfect time to redeem yourself from that last match." "Up yours, Huey," Dewey snapped. He then conceded and continued, "Y'know what? Screw it. We haven't practiced in a bit, anyway. I'm game!" Huey, as well as the rest of the crew, was delighted to know Dewey accepted the proposition- he knew that they were going to put all those "Rhyming Game" sessions to good use, once again. "You'd better bring it, then! Lou, gimme a beat!"

As the youngest duck triplet conducted an improvised drum pattern on the tabletop with a fist and a fork in his other hand, the crew of teens began to nod their heads to the rhythm of the beat. "Yeeeaaaah! I like THAT, Lou!" Huey complimented. "Ahem. Mic check. Testing; 1, 2, 1, 2," Dewey joked, tapping on his milk carton. After a brief moment of giggles, the group's full attention gravitated to Huey, who began to vent on what the school cafeteria deemed "lunch."

 ** _Huey_** ** _:_**

 _It's tha "H.D." comin' at you in "high **definition**." Ya _

**_better listen_** _, 'cause I don't believe in **repetition**. This _

**_wretched chicken's_** _served without the slightest **recognition**. Now my_

 ** _next intention's_** _to **set a mission** to **wreck tha kitchen**!_

 _Yo, who the hell gave 'em right to **make us eat a whole**_

 _plate_ _of the SAME SHIT that we just **ate a week ago**?_

 _I ain't just **sayin' a rap**. This is a "Constipated _

_Rant" that I'm makin', 'cause I ain't **TAKIN' THIS CRAP**! Think you can_

 ** _Make us adapt with this garbage_** _? I've been waitin' all_

 ** _Day, n' I'm practic'lly starvin'_** _! But now I'm tryna keep from_

 ** _vomiting_** _every second I stare at this **atrocity**. These_

 _Lame ass cooks won't get another DOLLAR **outta me**! _

_This is **a mockery**! It's **ludicrous**! Mix some **new ce-**_

 ** _ment_** _, then try to cook it with **TUNA FISH?!** I'd prob'bly_

 _get better nutrition sippin' on a **huge can o' piss**_

 _I'm ready to hand the topic off. **Dew, handle this**!_

As Louie's beat continued, the friends laughed and complimented Huey on his witty, humorous description of the grotesque food. Be that as it may, the sheer disappointment and outrage with the lackluster cafeteria food had not yet subsided. Dewey was ready to pick up where Huey left off, and he refused to bite his tongue on the matter. "Hold up! Hold up! You heard him! He's passin' it over to me! And I've been itchin' to get this off my chest for a while, now!" he said. "Then get it off, bro! Let's hear it!" Max cheered. And so, Dewey began his soliloquy, "Ayo…"

 ** _Dewey_** ** _:_**

 _Man, I'm **gettin' sick** of this **friggin' menu**. I've **been through** _

_so many stomach aches related to what I'm **diggin' into**. _

_N' anybody that disagrees must have an **iron**_

 ** _Stomach_** _… but I know all of us are slowly **dyin' from it**._

 _Wanna complain? **Better take a number**! Taste like they_

 _tried to cook this soup with a **defecated plunger**. N' they _

_WONDER why we're **givin' 'em "tude**." Well, maybe we wouldn't have _

_this discussion if they gave us **GENUINE FOOD** , now would we?_

 _Hell, it's obvious the Head Cook is **goin' soft**. It's_

 _bad enough I'm **croakin' off** some half-cooked **stroganoff**!_

 _You're better off eatin' a **bigger breakfast**. Either that,_

 _or diarrhea vs. nausea; You pick **your pref'rence**!_

 _'Cause this is **sick'nin' to me**. It's been years, 'n nobody's _

_EVER solved "The Case of the **Mystery Meat**." Yo, I don't_

 _know if it's beef, chicken, **a rabbit or an albatross** …_

And…DUDE, I THINK I FOUND **A MAGGOT IN MY APPLESAUCE**!

"Ohohoho! Touché! I didn't think you'd make a comeback. Good on ya!" Huey teased. "NO, I'M NOT JUST IMPROVISING THIS SHIT! THERE'S A MAGGOT IN MY APPLESAUCE! LIKE, RIGHT NOW IT'S CRAWLING ON THE FRIGGIN' SPOON!" Dewey exclaimed. And thus was the abrupt end of the lunchtime freestyle session, for all the students at the table were using all their will power to refrain from vomiting. Unfortunately, P.J. was the only one unsuccessful in his attempts. "That's it! I'm calling the FDA and a health inspector after school!" Louie said. "I don't care if I go broke. I'm bringing Behemoth Burgers or somethin' to lunch, from now on!" Max added. "That's only if you're willing to sacrifice one tooth a day going against Duke and the Phar- Uh-OH!" P.J. commented before he resumed upchucking. Huey had enough and said, "Just as we said! They wouldn't have this problem if they weren't servin' us this garbage!" "Y'know, you're right. But it'd be even BETTER if we weren't LOOKIN' at 5 piles of shit sittin' at the table, huh?!" said an unsettling voice that instantly set off a vibe of tension.

"What, Nate?" Louie said with a rather uninviting grimace. Nathaniel "Nate" Jones; a 5'7", 14-year-old dog in the 8th grade. Nate was the infamous school bully of Duckburg Middle School. Along with his two heinous companions- a 15-year-old stocky gray pit bull named Cylus (whose brawn make up for his brains) and a 14-year-old rowdy Doberman named Rome- Nate was notorious for causing trouble (next to their mischievous rivals, the Duck brothers). Huey, Dewey, Louie, Max, PJ, and several others, have had more than a few run-ins with the group of bullies. Needless to say, the kids dreaded every time they crossed paths with Nate. "YOU know wassup, bitch!" Nate snapped, "Since you think the food is so shitty, how 'bout you put that lunch money you got to better use? Run it!" Fed up with Nate's aggression, Huey retorted, "Piss off, Nate. None of us are givin' you a dime." "You said the wrong answer, punk. It's obvious you and this squad of butt pirates woke up with an ass beatin' on your mind, today," Nate sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Nah. We just woke up actually wanting to EAT lunch today. Wish it looked and tasted better than really does, but that's way beyond my control," Dewey joked. Annoyed with his rivals' defiance, Cylus grinned deviously and replied, "At least the food's better than them garbage ass rhymes you lames were spittin'. And that's a…um…yo Rome, what's the word, again?" "I think the word's 'understatement.' I'd be glad to spell it out for you if you want," Max sarcastically commented. "Oh, MY bad. I didn't know your name was 'Rome' all of a sudden. You wanna trade those big ass teeth for MY title?" Rome challenged, mere inches away from Max's face. Max put accepting the challenge in strong consideration as he glared at the canine. Nate was far from finished humiliating the crew. "So what's good? You lil' fags think you can spit fire or something? Hell outta here with that bullshit, man. Need I remind you of what happened at the talent show, a few years back?" In that moment, the Duck brothers went into traumatic silence, reflecting on the comment Nate made.

 ** _*** FLASHBACK***_**

A few years ago, Duckburg Elementary School was holding its annual talent show for students from kindergarten to 5th grade to showcase their skills. Parents, relatives, and friends of the contestants filled the auditorium for moral support. Two particular attendees in the audience just happened to be Donald and his girlfriend Daisy Duck, who patiently sat through a number of good and, well, not so good acts. "How much longer are they gonna keep us waiting?!" Donald griped. "Oh, just hush and wait a little longer, Donald. Look, the boys said they were the 8th act in the talent show, and the 6th act is about to start," Daisy reassured in an attempt to qualm Donald's irritability, "The boys said they were getting things ready backstage, but they promised us they wouldn't disappoint us if we showed up. It's only fair that we keep our end of the deal." "With all the hours those three kept me up this week, they'd BETTER not disappoint us!" Donald snapped as he watched a rather boring act of a 5th grader juggling eggs on a unicycle, " _Then again, maybe I'll be able to sneak a cat nap in before they the boys go on."_

Meanwhile, Huey, Dewey, and Louie (9 years old) were backstage making preparations for their performance. They had practiced three weeks before the talent show and bragged all around school how they would take home the trophy for 1st place this year. However, they had not yet conquered the inevitable case of "butterflies in the stomach." "Oh man, I wish that went to the bathroom before I left," Louie whined. Dewey replied, "Well, you can't go now. We're set to go on after this next act. I thought you took a leak before we left home." "Yeah, I did but…I'm…kinda nervous, guys," Louie implied. "Grrgh. Louie, now isn't the time to crack. If one goes down, we ALL go down," said Huey. He faced Dewey to check on him, as well, "Hey, Dewey, do you remember your rhymes?" "Yeah…I think." "THINK? I need you to KNOW you remember!" Huey said, growing a bit uneasy. "Okay, okay! I KNOW my words, alright?" "Don't worry, guys. If all else fails, I've got the rhymes you wrote, right here!" Louie confidently responded as he pulled out two folded pieces of paper. "Awesome idea, Louie," Huey said. Dewey agreed, "You're actually using your noggin for once. But we have one little problem." "Um…what's that, Dew?" "WE'RE DOING A LIVE PERFORMANCE!" yelled Huey and Dewey. "Geez! I was just lookin' out for you guys," Louie said in annoyance.

Just then, an older female duck approached the boys and informed, "Excuse me. Er…'Tha Quack Pack?' You guys are going to be on in 10 minutes, okay?" "Got it. Thanks!" The triplets responded. Huey brought his brothers in for a brief huddle to hype them up. "Alright, guys. It's all or nothing." "Right!" the two brothers agreed. "Those other guys got nothin' on us, so we've gotta knock outta the box." "You got THAT right. 1st prize is in the bag!" Dewey commented. "No prisoners, guys! It's time to rock the crowd!" "Yeah! LET'S…hold it. Just how big _is_ the crowd, anyways?" asked Louie. Huey and Dewey hunched their shoulders, causing a curious Louie to take a quick peek behind the curtains. What he saw, however, nearly gave him a heart attack. "The c-c-crowd is th-th-that b-b-b-big?" Louie stuttered. "Uh… You okay, Louie?" asked Huey. "Guys…I…I think I'm gonna need an emergency bathroom break," Louie responded in nervousness. "Seriously? Ugh. Which bodily function, Louie; Leak, dump, or puke?" Dewey cynically queried. "All three at once!" Huey and Dewey smacked their faces in distress and groaned, "We're dead."

10 minutes later, the boys were finally due for their performance, and they were more than ambitious to show their skills (or so it seemed). "Alright, ladies and gentlemen of Duckburg Elementary, LET'S HEAR IT FOR 'THA QUACK PACK!'" a female dog announced. As the crowd loudly applauded, the curtains began to rise. On stage were Huey and Dewey, each clutching cordless microphones, and Louie behind his personal DJ set. Each boy was respectively dressed in Red, Blue, and Green hoodies with matching Adidas and blue jeans. With a confident smirk, Huey commanded, "Yo, DJ L! Drop the beat!" With a short record scratch, Louie played an instrumental at about 94 BPM (produced by a more notorious DJ), making the crowd cheer and clap their hands to the beat. "What's good, ladies n' gents! I go by the name of Lil' H. I got my crew on stage with me. Double D on the mic and DJ L on the 1's n' 2's! It's time to show you a little somethin'," Huey declared.

 ** _Huey:_**

 _Once again, I'm Lil' H, so remember tha **name** and I'm the_

 _Next best, even if I'm new to tha **game**. At only_

 _9 years old, I'mma wreck tha **stage** a lot_

 _harder than the rappers three times my **age**!_

 ** _Dewey:_**

 _Like three beasts in this set breakin' outta the **cage** _

_We came to cause straight chaos in a fit of our **rage**. It's Double_

 _D dealin' damage, dudes and dames **dance** to the_

 _Beat that L's bumpin' in his DJ **Stance**_

 ** _Huey:_**

 _We finally got the **chance** to show the world we can rock the **mic**_

 _Puttin' other suckas outta work who couldn't spit **tight**_

 _Three little kids rippin' the stage and **stuntin'** on the_

 _Fakes and frauds and phonies that's always **frontin'**_

 ** _Dewey:_**

 _Talkin'_ _loud and sayin'-_

 _*GTZZZZ*_

Not even a minute into their performance, Dewey's microphone suddenly went dead. _"Whoa. Wait a minute. WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"_ He thought as he tapped his microphone. "Hey, Dewey! What happened?" Louie impulsively asked on his microphone. Dewey desperately signaled for Louie to remain focused by tapping his head. However, Louie wasn't as quick to pick up the message as Dewey had hoped. Instead, he said, "Oh. Did you forget your rhymes or somethin'? W-hold on! I still have 'em in my pocket!" _"God, PLEASE tell me he didn't just say that!"_ thought Huey. "Spin a record, Lou!" On Dewey's command, Louie immediately began to showcase his disc jockey skills (which, to be quite honest, were not yet perfected). At the worst possible time, the vinyl record playing the instrumental began to skip, completely throwing the boys out of rhythm. The audience was in stitches at the atrocity that just happened. Unable to deal with further embarrassment, Louie frightfully bolted backstage. "Dude! Louie just ditched us!" Dewey exclaimed. "HE DID WHAT?!" Huey shouted, forgetting that HIS microphone was still functional. With their DJ gone and a malfunctioning microphone, Huey and Dewey came to the realization that they weren't going home with a trophy, that evening. So, they made the only decision that any sensible kid would and walked off the stage before any further embarrassment could occur. "Come on, Donald. We have to check on them," said Daisy as they left the laughing audience to comfort their nephews.

Upon their arrival backstage, Donald and Daisy noticed Huey, Dewey, and Louie sitting on a bench, hanging their heads in defeat. "Tough crowd, eh boys?" Daisy joked. "Worst talent show ever," Huey, Dewey, and Louie said in unison. "Oh, don't sweat it guys," Donald reassured, "You'll win next year." "There isn't gonna BE a next year, Uncle Donald. We give up," said Huey. "We heard the other contestants and some of our classmates say those were some of the worst rhymes they've ever heard," Dewey commented. "They said my mix was pretty terrible, too," added a dismayed Louie. Huey shook his head, "We just don't see the point in goin' on if we're so bad at this." Daisy sighed, "Look, guys. I think the three of you are going about this the wrong way. Sure they may be saying these hurtful things about you and more, but you shouldn't let THAT stop you. You're just going to have to try harder in your efforts. How long have you guys been making your own music?'" After a quick moment to recollection, the boys replied, "About two years or so." "Mmm-hm. Only two years of practice, huh? Depending on your dedication, that would only make you DECENT at best. If you want to be great at what you do, you have to always try to outdo yourselves." "Outdo ourselves?" the boys responded in confusion. Daisy continued, "It may sound tough or even impossible, but it'll be worth it in the long run. I'm positive that you'll get A LOT more respect when you excel at what you do!" Daisy enlightened. Donald gave the boys a warm embrace and said, "She's got a point. How about we stop by Gorilla Burgers to forget all your troubles?" They agreed and left the school, but couldn't help but think, _"We're NEVER gonna hear this end of this."_

 ** _***END OF FLASHBACK***_**

While their skills improved and their voices deepened since the fiasco, the boys' prediction had unfortunately come to reality, time and time again. The ongoing teases, taunts, and jokes, haunted them so much that their rhyme sessions were considered to be nothing more than a casual past time. Completely mortified, Huey, Dewey, and Louie dropped their guard. "Yeah. Leave that rap shit to the ones that actually GOT BARS, let alone get props. Not a bunch of faggots like you." Nate insulted, "But I tell ya what: You caught me in a good mood, today. I'm feelin' a little generous." "Generous? That's a first," said Huey. "Yeah. I'll let you enjoy your meal. Since you're already a bunch of sad cases, I'll do you one better by PERSONALLY helping you enjoy it!"

Nate then proceeded to grab the top of Huey's head and slam it into his lunch tray. Dewey and Louie quickly rose from their seats to defend their brother against Nate. Rome stopped their attempts by squirting full chocolate milk cartons directly into their faces. "Two lil' punks with a face full of vitamin 'D.' Ain't too much different than any other weekend, huh?" Rome taunted. It would seem that the worst was over, but the group had two more victims to terrorize. Cylus first set his sights on Max saying, "Ayo, Maxi-pad. You got some'n on your shirt." "What? Where at?" Max cautiously asked. "You don't see it? Hmm. Oh, wait!" Cylus grabbed a full handful of beef stroganoff and smeared it onto Max's red hoodie. "THERE it is!" Rome sarcastically cheered. "Ugh! What the hell's wrong with you, Cylus?!" Max complained. Last but not least on the list was P.J., who was in obvious discontent. "C'mon, Cylus! Why are you messing with HIM?! He's got nothing to do with this." PJ stood up and contested. Cylus scowled and said, "You'd better back down, fat-ass. I'm doin' this because I feel like it. And I BET you won't do JACK!" With a single shove from Cylus, P.J. was on the cafeteria floor. He felt a wet, yet mushy substance on his posterior, which left him a bit perplexed. To his extreme disgust, PJ found out that he was shoved into a puddle of his own vomit. "Oops! Clumsy you!" Cylus laughed.

Before a brawl between the two opposing groups could ensue, faculty members appeared to monitor the incident. The five teens had been mortified and couldn't retaliate, but Nate had become satisfied with all the havoc he inflicted on the crew. "Heh. Y'know what? I guess you were right. Lunch wasn't all that good, today. Maybe we'll find better luck tomorrow with that money! Better have it on deck…if you don't want LEGIT ass whoopin', that is! Got a problem? Get at me!" Nate spat as he and his posse departed from the cafeteria. "GOD, I CAN'T STAND THOSE FRIGGIN' ASSHOLES!" Huey angrily exclaimed at a volume so loud that even the cooks could hear. "You'd better be speaking for ALL of us," Dewey irritably commented as he wiped milk off his face. "I swear to God; ONE DAY, Nate, Cylus, Rome and ANYONE ELSE that EVER looks down on us or screws us over is gonna regret it!" Huey venomously vowed. "We can't kick the entire SCHOOL'S asses by ourselves, Huey. It's not like anybody would care, regardless. Hell, they didn't even bother to help us out!" Dewey replied. "He's right. Not much we could at this point," Louie added, "Look, enough damage has been done for today, Hue. It's almost time to go back to class, anyways." "Yeah. I don't have much of an appetite anymore, man. Let's just get cleaned up n' go," sighed P.J. as he stood to his feet, vomit still on his trousers. "Uh, Peej, we're gonna need you to stay a few feet behind us. No offense," Max added, holding his nose. The other 4 boys rose from their seats and exited the cafeteria in misery.

 _"We're gonna get the respect we deserve…"_ thought Huey, _"…One way or another."_

* * *

 ** _Kids suck, don't they? Well that's about all the time I have today, ladies and gents. T_ _his chapter just gives you a preview of the talents of 2 of the crew members. Don't get ahead of yourself_** ** _though, readers. If you take a look at this entry, you will see that they certainly didn't acquire their skills overnight. Unfortunately, the boys get reminded of how terrible they once were after a run-in with the school bullies. The excruciating fight for respect and recognition drags on._**

 _ **Side note: I'm personally cringing after these lyrics that I wrote for the two. And it was downright AGONIZING to do the flashback lines. Like, SERIOUSLY painful to dumb it down. With that being said, who do you think delivered the better verse in the lunchtime freestyle session? Let me know!**_

 ** _Anyways, b_** ** _e sure to spread this around like a sickness, as my alias suggests. Constructive criticism gets meh giddy. With that being said, thanks for passing through. Your views do not go unappreciated or unacknowledged. Believe me. Dueces and best wishes to you n your's!_**


	4. Ch 3: All Fun N' Games

_**YOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  
...**_

 _ **I've got nothin'. I OWN nothing related to this story (so Disney, don't sue me). Let's just get this started. -_-**_

* * *

 **All Fun N' Games**

 **Duckburg Jr. High**

Two days and a fresh change of clothes later, the boys returned to school with a strong sense of mortification still lingering. It didn't make matters any better that they were getting teased left and right by their peers about the cafeteria incident. Be that as it may, the school year had to (unfortunately) continue. Huey and Dewey were rightfully hesitant to go to First Period, so they decided to utilize what little time they had by doing what they often did in the morning; loiter in the hallways before the first bell rung.

Huey casually leaned against the lockers as Dewey grab the books he needed. "Dude, how many minutes until the weekend begins?" Huey groaned. "Apparently, too many. Too many for you to stop cryin' about it," Dewey replied. Huey was complaining about the school year from the second it started, and after only three weeks, Dewey was getting tired of his brother's pessimism. "I'd back-hand you for that comment, but you're right. It really IS too long. And I'm too tired for this," Huey whined. Dewey shut his locker and replied, "Well, you can DAMN sure speak for yourself. You snore louder than any of us. If anything, I should be tired!" Dewey irritably responded. Huey couldn't even come up with a good enough retort, due to his energy being low and his eyes painfully heavy. However, that pain was suddenly lifted when he saw two incredibly cute female ducks walk down the hall. As the hormonal teenager he was, Huey subconsciously made his way to the young ladies with intentions to woo them. "Watch and learn, Dew. This the only free lesson I'm willing to give out," Huey confidently said, looking back at his brother. _"Oh, NOW he decides to wake up!"_ though Dewey.

Only minutes remained before class was set to begin. Huey knew he was pressed for time, but was steadfast on his mission. One duck named Melissa was a popular and very arrogant young lady. Considering how different Huey and Melissa's reputations were, the odds against him were stacked as high as the Great Wall. He loved challenges, so he didn't care. Wasting no time dilly-dallying, Huey approached a blond haired duck and nonchalantly said, "Yo wassup, Melissa? Lemme talk to you for a second." Melissa abruptly replied, "A second just passed, so you already did. Bye," and immediately continued about her day. _"DEEEEEEEE-to the –NIED!"_ Dewey thought as he shook his head and giggled. Huey couldn't let his brother see him get shut down so easily. Shaken but not stirred, Huey set his sights on Mika, a tan feathered duck with jet black hair and brown highlights. Mika was as sweet and a little shy as she was beautiful and intelligent. She may not have been as challenging as the last girl, but Huey was willing to settle for less…just this once.

He gently grabbed Mika by her had when she passed him and said, "Whoa whoa whoa, Mika. Where you goin' in such a hurry?" Mika turned to Huey, who was sporting a very charming grin. "Oh, g-good morning, Huey. I didn't see you. I was kind of in a rush," the Asian duck said. "Yeah. I hear that, but vibe with me for a second. I've got a proposition for you that I KNOW you can't refuse, and it'll only take a second or two to answer." "Oh, really?" Mika replied with curiosity. Huey pulled Mika close to him and replied, "It's all real with me, cutie. Peep this; I copped three tickets to go see that 'Dead Train' movie this Saturday, and it's kinda selfish to keep 'em all for myself. One for me, and two for you and your friend…IF she changes her mind, that is." _"Three tickets to 'Dead Train', THIS SAT- THAT ASSHOLE'S TRYING TO GIVE AWAY_ _ **OUR**_ _TICKETS!"_ Dewey thought in enraged disbelief. "Think about it, Mika. This could be one of two of the best moments Saturday night has to offer," Huey said as he gently put his index finger on the lower side of Mika's face, "The second best moment is rollin' with a chill dude like myself. But, hey. Ball's on YOUR court now, girl. So, what's it gonna be?" With a wink, Huey made Mika's face turn a shade of beet red. "W-well…I…I…" Mika stammered as she blushing furiously, unsure of whether to accept or decline the offer. Judging by her reaction, however, Huey was confident that it was in the bag.

 _*RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!*_

"I'm so sorry, Huey! I have to go!" Mika said as she broke from Huey's hold and quickly made her way to first period. Huey's expression went from devilish charm to indescribable disappointment. He shamefully walked back over to Dewey, who was tapping his chin in annoyance. "Free lesson, my ass! I'm gonna need a refund for every second of my time you just wasted. Trust me; it all added up," Dewey ranted, "And why the hell are you tryin' to give our tickets to Mika n' Melissa, any-friggin'-way? Mika's more of MY type than yours, anyway. YOU know THAT. If you're gonna be douchebag, at least get another ticket for a double date! Louie wouldn't be missing anything." "Shut the hell up, Dewey." Huey sighed as the two walked to the first class of the day.

 _Three periods later…_

"I cannot say I wanna be here right now," said Huey as his head leaned into his hand, trying not to fall asleep during the lesson. "Right. Like you've never said that a million times before," Dewey replied as he scribbled sentences in his notebook (completely unrelated to the lesson, of course), "Still, I gotta say that the feeling is definitely mutual today." The school day was dragging on, and being the young and restless teens they were, Huey and Dewey desperately needed a spark. "Yo, Dew," Huey whispered, "Wanna try playing the rhyming game again?" "Nope. Stackin' my ammo, this time," Dewey nonchalantly responded, jotting down a verse before tearing out the page seconds later, "And NOW that ammo's been depleted. Thank you SO much for screwing up my train of thought, Huey." Huey hunched his shoulders and said, "Cry me a river. That verse probably sucked anyway. Besides, serves you for throwin' shade on my game. Karma's a bitch, ain't it?" To which Dewey smugly replied, "Well, I can think of TWO things that are. Karma is DEFINITELY one, and the other has to be the guy that's talking to me right now." "Sit n' spin, Dewey," Huey snapped.

A moment later, he came up with a devious plot, "On second thought, I DO have something else in mind." Huey turned to his brother with curiosity and asked, "Hm? What's on your mind?" "You planning on doin' anything after school?" "Nah. I've got nothin' to do. Why?" Huey answered. "THIS is why." Dewey opened his backpack to reveal two objects that made Huey grin deviously. The two had once again ended their bickering to set their sights on yet another target of their mischief. "Say no more," Huey whispered, "Just go with the flow,"

"Excuse me, Mr. Wesker," Huey said, raising his hand. "What is it THIS time, Mr. Hubert?" asked the instructor, a short and round mole with glasses. "You haven't seen anything crawling around, have ya?" Huey asked as he looked around the floor. "Er...no. Why should I be looking around?" Dewey decided to milk the situation and come up with a viable alibi. "Hm. I guess you DON'T know. I figured the faculty would've filled you in by now," he said. Mr. Wesker scratched his head in confusion, which was an immediate signal to Huey and Dewey that their plan would work. "So nobody told you about the possibility of a snake infestation?" said Dewey. Mr. Wesker and the pupils began to chatter in surprise. It seemed like the two devious boys found a good enough excuse to execute their plan. "Dude. He's not kiddin' around. In fact, I saw a garter snake in my locker this morning. Rascal must've been looking for a place to crash, and he snuck in overnight," Huey fibbed. "IS THAT SO?!" Mr. Wesker asked. Huey finished, "The snake wasn't that big, so I took him outside n' let him run free. I wouldn't be surprised if it came back…or if an ever BIGGER snake crawled in." "Huey might be on to somethin', Mr. Dub," Dewey added, "I mean think about it; Haven't we be having a SEVERE LACK OF RATS around the school? That used to be the norm. If I were you, I'd stop by the pet shop and see if they're selling any mongooses!"

Mr. Wesker was growing increasingly nervous with the incoming news, and Huey was egging it all on. "MONGOOSE?! The hell's a mongoose gonna against an army of snakes? I think you should get some honey badgers to solve this problem!" "H-H-HONEY BADGERS?!" Mr. Wesker exclaimed. "Oh, totally, dude. They'd rip a cobra's head off with their teeth, and if they get bit, it ain't gonna hurt 'em. They'll walk it off like nothin' happened. You can't lose!" Huey ensured. "Unless it's a boa constrictor or an anaconda. THEN, we'll be thoroughly screwed six ways from Sunday," Dewey added. Mr. Wesker was practically shaking in his shoes, at this point. Huey said, "But ya know, maybe I should check to see if that snake came back. If you got a bat or somethin', I'll smash his head in when you open the locker. I'm still young, energetic, and not as close to the grave than YOU are. So, I probably stand a better chance, anyways." "I beg your pardon?!" Mr. Wesker responded in disgust. Dewey snickered and turned his head from his instructor's view. "Ain't got time to beg, Mr. Dub. We can't let the snakes invade the school! Time to fight back! NO GUTS, NO GLORY!" Huey urged as he pushed Mr. Wesker out of the classroom. He shot Dewey a quick wink to give him the "green light."

In a flash, Dewey grabbed the items from his backpack, ran to Mr. Wesker's desk, and after a few seconds of fiddling with the drawers, casually returned to his seat. _"Now to sit back and enjoy the carnage,"_ he thought. Needless to say, this perplexed his classmates. After about three minutes, Huey and Mr. Wesker returned to the classroom. "Eh, well. Guess I scared him off. Good riddance. But it's nothing we wouldn't have handled, right?" Huey smugly asked. "S-sure. Right," Mr. Wesker replied, his nervousness clearly evident. Huey returned to his seat and looked at his brother, who just nodded and winked. "Okay, class. Let's continue with the discussion of square roots."

* ** _hisssssssssssssss*_**

"Huh? Did I just hear something?" Mr. Wesker asked himself. He shook the thought out of his mind and began to read. Yet again, he heard the same familiar sound.

 ** _*hisssssssssssssss*_**

It seemed as though the noise was coming from one of the drawers of his desk. With beads of sweat growing on his brow, Mr. Wesker dreaded to find out what was emitting the sound. He shakily opened his bottom drawer and found an angry black snake coiled up in his desk, making him screech and prance in horror. The students laughed hysterically as Mr. Wesker frolicked in fear. "Dude, you're such an ass, y'know that?" Huey laughed. "Takes one to know one, bro," Dewey replied as he exchanged a "homie handshake" his partner in crime. "ALRIGHT! WHOSE BRIGHT IDEA WAS _THIS_?! Mr. Wesker angrily exclaimed, completely enraged that someone took advantage of his crippling Ophidiophobia. In his left hand was the black rubber snake, and in his right was a voice recorder playing the sound effects of a hissing snake. As the uproar of laughter instantly switched to silence, all fingers quickly pointed to Huey and Dewey in the most literal sense. The boys looked toward Mr. Wesker with guilty expressions and slowly lowered their handshake, knowing that they were caught red handed. "You guys SURE know how to keep a secret," Dewey sarcastically commented.

 **Duckburg Jr. High- Detention**

As foreseen by Dewey, he and Huey ended up staying after school for detention. "Makes sense why you asked me if I had plans after school," Huey scowled at his brother. "Oh, don't gimme that. You bought into it, too," Dewey responded, "But tell me this wasn't worth seeing Wesker screaming and jumpin' around like a sissy." "Fine. You got me there. I'd be lyin' if I said it wasn't," Huey grinned. "QUIET!" yelled the detention instructor Ms. Ellen Long, an ornery panda in her late 30s. "Loud, actually, but close enough," Dewey joked. "In case you haven't noticed, this is DETENTION, not a play date. You sit in silence and do your homework until I release you. Until then, you're on lock down," the instructor said as she walked towards Huey and Dewey. "Well, I'm actually done with mine, already," Dewey confidently responded. "Is that so?" Ms. Long asked, "Let ME see it." As instructed, Dewey handed her one of the notebooks on his desk, but was taken aback when he saw her shake her head. "Show me what you were REALLY working on," she said, glaring at the student.

Dewey reluctantly pulled out a sheet of paper with several scratch outs and scribbles and handed it to Ms. Long. What she read gradually drew grimace of confusion and disgust. " _I got the sickest steez and the coldest flow? Put that on Mr. Freeze? Suckas try to bite like ticks n' fleas on a Pekingese?!_ " She was clearly appalled by what she was reading, but forced herself to continue, " _I'll pick a beat, then rip it with wicked intricacy? Butcherin' and cookin' competitors? Call it FRICASSE?!_ What IS this…this NONSENSE?!" Between giggles, Huey commented, "Actually, I kinda thought it was dope." _"Her delivery was HORRIFIC!"_ Dewey thought. He swallowed his pride and replied, "Those are just a few rhymes I wrote in my spare time." "Rhymes?!" the panda snapped, "No. I'll tell you what they REALLY are; GARBAGE!" To Dewey's anguish, she ripped the sheet of lyrics in half and crumbled it into a ball. "SERIOUSLY?! I don't think he was even finished, yet!" cried Huey in defense of his brother. "TOO BAD! As I said; this is trash, just like the poor excuses for music kids these days call Hip-hop and Rock  & Roll. I'm surprised that nonsense is even what society considers music!" the instructor venomously spat. By this point, Dewey and Huey were beginning to lose their patience. "And just what do you find so wrong with rock OR rap? I mean, have you even bothered to listen to a song from either genre for more than 30 seconds?" Dewey irritably questioned. That comment was just enough to send the distasteful instructor into a tangent.

"What's wrong with them, you ask? What's RIGHT with them?! That's the shorter answer! Rock and Rap music epitomize what's wrong with your generation. Based on what I've heard, it's nothing but madness and insanity crammed into my ears! Rock music is nothing but a maniac screaming in a microphone over nauseating guitars. You would've sworn all of these bands were collectively conjuring demons in the midst of all that incomprehensible noise!" Huey had enough and decided to speak his piece, saying, "You probably didn't even bother to try to listen to the lyrics, did you? There's more than just a shredding guitar, killer drums and vocals, y'know." "Ha! Don't waste my time! And if you REALLY want to speak on lyrics, then let's talk about Rap music! Ugh, where do I start? Nothing but a bunch of moronic hoodlums' pitiful attempts at poetry." As hip-hop enthusiasts and casual participants so early in their youth, this struck a nerve within the two duck brothers (especially Dewey). "All they talk about is sex, crime, and money, considering you can understand a fifth of what they're saying among the vulgarity." "There's actually plays on words, metaphors, and messages within the lyrics they say, Ms. Long. That goes for both genres," Dewey bluntly stated, "Maybe you can't understand what they're saying because you haven't had anybody translate what point they're trying to get across; Rap or Rock. Or maybe that kinda sound is way too far ahead of your years. Just sayin'."

"Hmph! I've seen enough to know that your generation and any others to come will result in the extinction of the world as we know it. Hip-Hop, Rock, and even that Electronic nonsense is a picture perfect reflection of such," the instructor said with a scowl, "These…so called 'artists', as you say, won't go anywhere in life except into a maximum security penitentiary. Then again, judging by the actions the two of you and your other brother constantly indulge in, I'd be surprised if you three wouldn't end up in juvenile hall before this school year ended. If only that day had come sooner… Maybe I and the rest of the city would actually sleep soundly at night without hooligans like YOU plaguing society with your existence." That remark left the boys at a loss for words. How could someone wish ill will on some teens for a playful prank? "Disgraceful. I honestly don't know what kind of parents are raising you, but they're failing miserably, if you ask ME. They probably spend most of their time hitting the town, rather than ensuring their own children wouldn't become disappointments like them." "WHAT'D YOU JUST SAY?!" Huey exclaimed, jumping from his seat with quickly rising anger. He felt a sudden firm grip around his right wrist that stopped him in his tracks. Huey glanced down to see Dewey, still seated, looking towards the inconsiderate elder hawk with a solemn expression. Dewey was also thoroughly peeved, but despite the snarky comment about their present (or former) caretakers, he didn't let it affect him. However, he knew that his older brother's temper could be quite explosive, considering this was far from the first time he's had to hold Huey back. Dewey loosened his grip on Huey's wrist and shook his head, not breaking his mien. Huey conceded by jerking away from Dewey's grip and sitting back down, swallowing yet another bitter taste of defeat.

Accepting rejection, mortification, and irrational judgment from the world seemed to have been normal for the boys. It was the same, monotonous anguish experienced for years, yet they had not yet become numb to it. It was a wonder that these teens had not yet given in to the sting of failure and crumble at the world before them. How much more could they bear before grief and frustration overcame their senses? Would they submit to the consistent discontent? Or would the put a resounding end to pain; positively or negatively? Only fate held the answers. Only time would tell.

* * *

 _ **Y'know that mean lady that's in the story? Remember her for later, 'kay? #foreshadowing** **Decided to write a chapter that focuses on only two characters at a time. This will be reocurring theme that focuses on 1-3 characters in certain chapters, as it will give you a good idea of some of the things these knuckleheads go through in small groups or individually.**_

 ** _Be sure to spread this around like a sickness, as my alias suggests. Constructive criticism makes me excited, and I mean that in the most sexual way possible (JK). With that being said, thanks for checking out this chapter. Watch me or fave if you wanna stay updated. Trust me; the story has YET to get juicy. Dueces and best wishes to you n your's!_**


	5. Ch 4: Striking a Chord

**_LONG time no see, ladies and gents. I've been busy as shit over several weeks and I had to work on this one in spurts to make sure it was good. Nevertheless, it's time for another episode of D-Set: Trouble Never Comes Alone. HOORAY!_**

 ** _The last chapter revolved around Huey and Dewey and the consequences of their shenanigans. This particular chapter revolves around two other characters. I wonder who they could be? Let's find out!_**

* * *

 **Striking a Chord**

 *****Goof Household- Garage*****

While two of the Duck Brothers were serving a sentence for mischief in the first degree, Max and PJ were making preparations of their own. "Okay. So, let's run through it one more time to make sure we got it down pat. Cool?" said Max as he grabbed his electric guitar. PJ, equipped with his bass guitar, plugged in his amplifier and responded, "Dude, seriously? We went over this 10 times THIS week, and 20 times if you include LAST week. I counted. You don't think that was enough for us to nail the audition?" "Not takin' any chances, Peej," Max responded, adjusting the volume of his own amplifier, "Just one more time n' we can split." "Fine, if it'll make you happy. You probably just wanna show off your chops, anyways." "Well, maybe a little bit," Max sheepishly admitted. He strummed a chord in the key of "G Minor" and continued, "You ready?" "Yeah. _If not now, I don't know WHEN we'll ever be ready._ You kick it off n' I'll drop in."

Max began by playing an aggressive yet energetic riff on his guitar, consisting of Gmin, Ebmaj7, Cmin7, Ebmaj7, and Fmaj chords in that order. Using an effects pedal, the tone of the guitar was adjusted with just the right amount of overdrive to execute a hard rock sound. After Max played 8 measures on his guitar, PJ easily slid into the rhythm of the jam session and strummed a bass line that aligned perfectly with Max's riff. While Max was sticking to a designated rhythm, PJ chose to improvise his bass line in accordance with the chords being played. "Hehehe! Sick lick, Peej!" Max cheered as he continued with his rhythm guitar skills. The young musicians fed off each other's prowess very well, even when changing the chords of their number. PJ figured it was time to let Max lead the way after about 2 minutes. Not breaking the tempo or rhythm of their session, PJ yelled, "Floor's all yours, Max. Start shreddin'!" Without the slightest hint of hesitation, Max commenced an elaborate guitar solo as PJ continued with his bass line. The musical ax wailed and arpeggiated with every fret pressed and every string plucked, and Max found himself subsequently lost in bliss. In fact, he was so entranced that he didn't even notice that the bass line had come to a halt a minute into his lengthy solo. "Alright, Max. I think we're ready," said PJ as he walked over to the entranced guitarist. Max didn't hear a word PJ said as the solo progressed. "MAX! DUDE! YOU CAN KILL THE SOLO, NOW! I THINK YOU MADE YOUR POINT THAT IT'S IN THE BAG!" Still, Max continued to play away on his beloved guitar, completely oblivious to his comrade's complaints to do otherwise.

With his patience growing thin, PJ decided to bring the jam session to an end, personally. He walked over to Max's amplifier and unplugged the cord connecting his guitar. Noticing an immediate change in the guitar's sound and volume, Max finally stopped playing with a bit of confusion on his face. He turned around to see PJ casually sitting on Max's amplifier and swinging the unplugged cable. "Okay, PJ. Start explaining; what possessed you to kill my vibe?" Max asked with a hint of confusion mixed with annoyance. PJ responded, "Dude, you lost yourself in the solo again. Save all that ammo for the audition, man. Speaking of which, if I would've let you stretch it any longer, you would've made us late." "Oh, c'mon! You could've AT LEAST let me have about 20 more seconds! That wasn't gonna kill anybody!" Max contested.

"Aaaaw, he's right, PJ! You're such a killjoy!" said Pistol, who had snuck into the garage to view the boys' secret performance. "Thank you, Pistol," Max replied, "At least SOMEBODY has good taste in your family." PJ turned to his baby sister and responded, "You're my own sister, for God's sake! You're not supposed to take HIS side, you little turncoat!" "She's got a point, Peej. But you're right; times a-wastin' n' we gotta get to that audition before they cancel on us." "Ooooooh! You guys are gonna be in a band! What type of band are you guys gonna be in THIS time? Can I come too? Can I? Huh? Huh?" Pistol rapidly asked as she bounced around in her typical exuberant nature. "We're just auditioning." Max started. "It's a rock band." PJ continued. "And NO. HELL no." the two flatly finished. It seemed as though BOTH had become accustomed to Pistol's speedy delivery. Pistol plopped on the ground a folder her arms in disappointment, "GEEZ! YOU TWO ARE NO FUN, YOU KNOW THAT?!" She cried. "That's funny. I could've sworn you were takin' my side a minute ago," Max smugly commented, "Now we're enemies, eh?" "Told ya she's a turncoat, bro." PJ teased. "Aw, you guys stink, anyways," Pistol retorted after blowing a raspberry, "You could've had some REAL talent if you let ME join the group, but NOOOOOO…" "And what contribution could you make to the band besides giving headaches? Kazoo playing can only get you so far," PJ said as he grabbed his bass guitar and skateboard. "It's an acquired taste, okay?! It's not hot on the market yet, but you just wait, buster!" Pistol replied. As he followed his buddy out the garage with his guitar in its case, Max joked, "Once we land these spots, we'll be sure to let you know when you can join the band…whatever decade THAT may be." "JERKS!" Pistol yelled as the boys rolled away from the garage.

Max and PJ had transported halfway across the neighborhood before they made it to area the audition would take place. "So, you really think we're ready, huh?" PJ asked. "Hell yeah, we're ready, Peej," Max confidently answered, "After all the bands that gave us 'no-gos' over the past few years, we'd BETTER be ready!" Max and PJ have been playing guitar and bass respectively since they were roughly 7 years old, due to the influence of the rock bands the idolized on television. As they improved, they eventually put joining bands in consideration. However, for every band they attempted to join (together or individually), they've faced rejection for a variety of reasons. It started with them not being good enough with their instruments (being they were still fairly young at the time). So consequently, they strived for improvement until improvement was acquired. Nevertheless, they faced bands that weren't quite looking for the genre they had become somewhat proficient in. In response, Max and PJ started practicing every genre of every band that turned them down, which consisted of rock, funk, blues, jazz, and even country if the mood was right. Overtime, they both became more experienced than ever with their instruments and even their vocals, and they decided to audition for bands all across the city of Duckburg. But alas, they were faced with one of the most disappointing excuses on multiple occasions; they were too young. As pitiful as THAT alibi was, it was equally devastating to Max and PJ as all the others. Nevertheless, they persisted in spite of continuous spurning.

This time, Max and PJ were confident that they would finally land a spot in a local garage rock band and show their skills. They had become quite talented and equally versatile. Added to the fact that the band they were auditioning for were a group of teenagers a few years older than them, Max and PJ felt that there were NO excuses left to keep them from getting accepted. The only ones that could stop them were themselves. As the boys proceeded to cruise through a cul-de-sac, Max took a look at the flyer he kept in his hoodie pocket. "4951 Cherry Lane. Should be the second to last house on the right," said Max. As they came closer to the house, the felt a familiar sense uncertainty. Nevertheless, they had to mask their nervousness once they reached their destination.

Inside the garage, three teenagers (about 16 to 17 years of age) were in the midst of a jam session. Max and PJ proceeded to the garage. "No looking back, Peej," said. "Not like I have much of a choice. I know you're gonna pull me back over here, regardless," PJ stated. Once they stood in front of the garage, the jam session came to a screeching halt and the band members turned to the two strangers. Max figured it was time to break the ice and begin what he and PJ came for. Max awkwardly said, "Uh...yeah. You guys are 'Flatt Earth Society', right?" "Yeah. Who's askin'?" responded a dog with a beanie on his head. Judging by face value, Max and PJ assumed he was the front man of the band. "Name's Max. This is my bro, PJ. He plays bass and I play guitar." "Yeah. So?" snapped the Keyboardist, a green female duck with a tuff of hair covering her eye. PJ decided to speak up to support his friend. "Well, we caught wind of your ad and wanted to see if we play for you." "Right. I'm pretty confident that-" "Not accepting freshmen," said the drummer, a stocky cat with a short Mohawk. "-we've got enough skill to fill in the gaps of your…Wait. Say what now?" Max responded in confusion. "You heard him," the front man bluntly stated, "Freshmen are blacklisted from this band. It screws up our image." "But, we're not freshmen," PJ reassured. "And THAT makes it even worse, chunky. You're basically two ass-wipes-in-training compared to the REAL ass-wipes, aka FRESHMEN." "Wait a minute," Max began, "Why does that even ma-" "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. NOW I remember these two!" the keyboardist interjected with a big grin, "You remember that talent show about 5 years ago?" _"Oh, God. I didn't think anyone would bring THAT up!"_ Max thought.

 ** _***FLASHBACK***_**

One evening at Duckburg Elementary, Max and PJ were making preparations backstage for the school talent show. "Alrighty, Maxie and PJ. Are ya ready for yer big act tonight? A-hyuck!" said Goofy. "You know it, dad!" Max replied with ambition in his eyes, "Me and PJ are gonna rock out tonight bring that trophy home with us!" "Hopefully, but who's house is the trophy gonna stay at if we win?" PJ asked. Pete, who was a bit annoyed that he was coerced into coming to the talent show that evening, replied, "It's stayin' at OUR house! What do you think?!" "Now, wait a minute, Petey. Both of the boys signed up for the talent show. It's only fair that they SHARE the trophy," said Goofy "Do tell, Goofer. How exactly are they gonna share a single trophy?" "Why, it's simple! We can split into! One half can go to Max, and the other half can go to PJ! Ahyuck!" "Let me know if you find ANY success with that plan," Pete responded, massaging his temple. He turned his attention to the 9-year-olds with a sinister look in his eyes. "Besides, it's best not to get their hopes too high, anyway." "What are you getting at, Mr. P?" Max asked. Pete grinned deviously and answered, "You mean to tell me you haven't gotten cold feet yet? By now, even professional acts would be getting butterflies in their stomach before they hit the stage." "N-no sir," PJ replied, despite his nervousness beginning to fester within. "Well, I would certainly hope not. I mean, you still have the other contestants ya gotta worry about," Pete teased, "Just look at that group of kids over there."

Max and PJ, turned their attention to three white ducks roughly their age, each wearing hoodies, jeans, and sneakers. Max felt his anger rising by the second at the mere sight of his rivals. The opponents turned to see Max and PJ, with two of them returning scowls. "So you actually entered the contest? I'm surprised," said a duck in a red hoodie. "Yeah, we entered. And we're gonna make sure you're not going home with first place," Max retorted. "Heh. SOMEBODY'S a big dreamer, eh Huey?" the duck in a blue hoodie commented. "If you ask me, they're just wastin' their time dreaming, Dewey," Huey added. "The same way YOU guys wasted time signing up? Seems fair," PJ taunted. Huey was getting annoyed, but kept his cool. "Whatever. Just know that WE'RE gonna be the ones leavin' with that trophy, tonight. Save yourself the trouble and quit while you're ahead!" Dewey agreed with his brother's statement, but his other brother in a green hoodie and baseball cap, Louie, remained peculiarly silent. "Hey. If you wanna go up there and make winning the talent show easier for us…" Max teased, "…Be our guests," PJ finished, putting his arm around best friend's shoulder in support. "Tch. We'll see," Dewey responded, making a silly face and making a "loser" hand gesture. As the triplets walked off, Pete laughed and said, "Well, well, well! It looks like the competition's a bit fiercer than I thought. But hey, it's still in the bag. Right?" Max and PJ looked a bit uneasy, but nodded regardless. "Good. Break a leg, boys; hopefully not literally!" Pete laughed as he made his way to the backstage exit. Max managed to kill his uncertainties and encouraged his band mate, "Aw, what's he know? Don't sweat it, Peej. We've got first place in the palm of our hands." "I sure hope so," PJ said with a bit of dismay in his voice.

It seemed that same competitive ambition the Duck brothers shared was for naught, however. After a couple of minutes of their performance, Max and PJ heard laughter and jeers from the audience. "BOOOO! GET OFF THE STAGE!" With the crowd's insistence, Max and PJ watched as the 3-man act retreated shamefully backstage. _"Geez. Talk about a tough crowd,"_ thought Max. In spite of the imminent fear of the same rejection his foes just faced, Max kept a brave and confident front. "Well, it looks like it's up to US take home the trophy, Peej," he said, "At least we don't have to worry THEM standing in our way anymore, right?" There was a bit of silence. "Right, PJ?" Max turned to PJ, who seemed to be in a catatonic shock after witnessing a group of kids like themselves get laughed at and booed off stage. Max grabbed PJ by the shirt and slapped him back into reality. "PJ! Stay with me!" he said. "Max, I'm starting to have second thoughts about going on stage!" PJ whimpered. "Well, it's too late to wimp out NOW! We're on in five minutes! Besides, it's better for it to happen to THEM instead of US," Max reassured. PJ sighed, "Fine. I sure hope your right about this, though."

Five minutes later and the boys were due to start their performance on stage. With their amplifiers engaged and their instruments in hand, Max and PJ were ready to rock. That didn't change the fact that the infamous "butterflies" were beginning to manifest in their stomachs. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for the next act?" The audience cheered with excitement. "THAT'S what we like to hear! So without further ado, let's give a big round of applause for our next act; THE GOOF TROOP!" As the audience applauded, the curtain was drawn open to reveal two clearly nervous young boys. "Well PJ, start us off," Max whispered to PJ. At the time, PJ wasn't used to taking the lead and was practically shaking in his boots, but considering his current situation, he had no choice. He began with a familiar bass line of a notable Hair Metal band. The audience began clapping to the rhythm of the groove. After two measures, Max played a guitar riff that...was SOMEWHAT similar to the song's original riff, if not a more simplified version of it. Two more measures passed, and Max was ready to assume leadership.

 ** _Max:_**

 _Days Undercover, All out of sync  
Haven't paid the rent, even talkin' in my sleep  
My monkey's M.O., is all out of commission  
I'm waitin' for a good old fashioned cure for my condition_

The chord progression was rather shaky, considering the boys only practiced for a week and a half. There were a few incorrect notes plucked by mistake, but the show had to go on.

 ** _Max:_**

 _'Cause I'm all out of time  
And I'm all out of money  
Hangin' Down Incognito  
Waitin' for the sun to shine_

In spite of a few blunders, the crowd continued to clap. Max vocals were certainly not the strongest, but he was still able to carry the same notes of the original artists. PJ's voice was in similar quality to Max's as he began to sing.

 ** _PJ_** :

 _Counts to the left, Jokers to the right  
Countin' on the rest of us to come and take a bite_

 _But I'll wait it out. Call it superstition  
I'll be fine for now, just reminiscing_

As the melody changed again (albeit shakily), Max and PJ harmonized with the chorus:

 ** _Max and PJ:_**

 _'Cause I'm all out of time  
And I'm all out of money  
Hangin' Down Incognito  
Waitin' for the sun to shine_

Judging by the rhythmic clapping, the crowd was still somewhat entertained (keyword being "somewhat"). For a while, it seemed as though things were going a bit smoothly for ambitions little musicians. In fact, one might say that they felt the illustrious stomach butterflies start to dissipate. The song was halfway over and the boys seemed home free, until tragedy struck. Due to nervousness, Max's sweaty hand lost the grip of his guitar pick, which bounced a few feet away. However, due to the bright lights and his focus on the audience, Max didn't see exactly where it landed. He subconsciously began searching around for it as quick as possible. As the audience began to snicker and giggle at the incident. PJ felt those butterflies beginning to return. Although his voice wasn't as strong as Max's, he was doomed to pick it up where Max left off.

 ** _PJ_** :

 _I just had to let it go  
Took all the pennies I had  
Threw 'em in the wishing well  
And I wish you well_

Just in the nick of time, Max rose from the floor with his pick in hand to commence his guitar solo. Max shredded a solo that was…well…slightly close to decent on the VERY best of days. He noticed that the crowd wasn't convinced by his talent (or slight lack thereof), so he decided to bring out the big guns. Once he chose to stop playing, Max loosened his grip on the instrument to go for a technique like no other. Only the most courageous guitarists in the world would attempt such a dangerous feet. Many have tried, but few have succeeded. Nevertheless, Max was going to for the forbidden technique: the infamous guitar swing. With his grip completely loosened, Max grabbed the base of the electric guitar's bridge and gave it a twist and shove. It seemed as though Max was going to be the first 9-year-old to be indoctrinated into the Legion of Guitar Tricksters. That is until…

 _*SNAP*_

The strap of his guitar broke off due to the extra force of the swing. "Oh, Crud!" Max cried, "PJ, look out!" The pudgy bassist looked to his right and saw Max's runaway guitar quickly flying in his direction. "WHOA!" PJ immediately darted out of the way as the guitar crashed to the stage, subsequently breaking beyond repair. However, PJ also faced his own technical difficulties. When he tried to avoid being pummeled by Max's guitar, PJ tripped over his shoelaces, which resulted in him accidentally unplugging the cable that was linked to his amplifier. "Oh, C'MON!" He whined. Not too much unlike the act that preceded them, the boys were faced with an audience in downright stitches at the atrocity. PJ tried to inch his way off stage, until Max snatched him back into place. "PJ! We can't back out now! We've gotta finish what we started!" Max pleaded. "We ARE finished, Max! Our air guitar skills won't get us anywhere!" PJ replied "It's worth a shot," Max said. He grabbed the microphone stand and finished the last verse of the song to at least try to calm the audience down (key word being "try").

 ** _Max:_**

 _Days undercover  
All out of sync  
Haven't paid the rent  
Even talking in my sleep_

"Take it, Peej!" Max gleefully commanded. However, PJ had become a nervous wreck due to the failure of a performance. So, he stammered the second half of the verse, his voice cracking and squeaking every step of the way.

 ** _PJ_** : _  
M-my monkey's M.O  
Is a-a-all out of c-c-c-commission  
I'm w-w-waiting for a good  
Old-fashioned c-cure  
For my condition_

Max playfully swung his arm around PJ's shoulder, and the two began to rock from side to side as they sang the last few lines together.

 ** _Max and PJ:_**

 _'Cause I'm all out of time  
And I'm all out of money  
Hangin' Down Incognito  
Waitin' for the sun to shine_

The two boys grinned widely, albeit nervously, as their fiasco had finally come to an end. Even Pete of all people was getting a kick out of the disaster. "Ohohohoho! Two train wrecks in one night!" he teased as he slapped his knee in laughter, "I dunno whether this is a kids' talent show or a comedy show! Either way, I'm gettin' MY entertainment, tonight! Bwahahahaha!" As the audience continued to laugh and jeer at them, Max and PJ expressed their final thoughts through their broad smiles. "Max?" PJ said. "Yes, PJ?" Max replied. "We're not gonna win this contest, are we?" asked PJ. "No, PJ," Max answered. "Yep. Thought not. I just wanted to make sure." "Just wave n' walk, PJ. Just wave n' walk." And the two did just that as they made an embarrassing exit offstage, putting an end to their act.

 ** _***END OF FLASHBACK***_**

"Hahahaha! NOW, I remember! How could I forget how much of a shit-show THAT was?!" said the drummer. The lead singer hunched his shoulders and added, "Well, these two are walking shit bags. What'd you expect?" As the laughter and insults continued, Max and PJ could do nothing but look dumbfounded as they recollected on the memory. "In fact," The leader took a closer look at the two amateur musicians' visages and noticed shocking resemblances. "WHOA! OH SHIT!" Max and PJ knew not what generated that explosive reaction, but they had a feeling that what was next to come would not be too positive. "You're the kids of that car lot owner and that bumbling, buck-toothed jackass, aren't you?!" Max and PJ knew he was referring to Goofy and Pete, couldn't say a word to deny the allegations. "Oh, dude. It's not only a 'no', but a 'HELL NO' now! There's NOW WAY we're letting you in the band!" They keyboardist commented. "Right," the drummer added as he turned his attention to Max, "We don't need Jackass McScrewup Jr. with us causing the stage to collapse because he tripped over air." "That's if HIS fat ass doesn't beat him to the punch," replied the keyboardist, referring to PJ, "He probably couldn't take a step without causing an earthquake!" The kettle was beginning to get hot for Max, but PJ snapped him out of it. He put his hands on Max's shoulder, scowled and said, "Dude, let's just go." In spite of his frustration, Max came back to his senses. "Y'know what? You're right. We don't need this." "And WE don't need YOU! So you can politely piss off at any time!" The leader taunted. "And tell Big Pete that nobody needs those piece-o-shit cars he's tryin' to sell!" The keyboardist added. The boys just ignored the band members' verbal abuse and cackling as they rolled away from the garage.

 ***** Goof Household*****

* _SLAM!*_

The sudden slam of the front door caught Goofy's attention. He walked into the living room to find Max walking in the house in evident irritation. "Hiya, Maxie! Ahyuck!" Goofy welcomed. Max didn't even look in Goofy's direction. He just walked passed him and flatly replied, "Hey." Goofy was taken aback by Max's apathy to such a warm welcome, but he wanted to strike a conversation with his beloved son. "So, how did yer big gig go? Did ya get in the band?" "It didn't go, at all. Not in the band," Max answered as he made his way to the staircase. "Aww. Cheer up, Max. You'll land a spot in a band one of these days!" said Goofy in full support of Max's aspirations. However, Max was not thoroughly convinced or amused. _"As if,"_ he thought, "Look, dad. I'm sorry, but I'm just not in the mood to talk right now." Before Max could make it inside his bedroom, Goofy called out, "Max." Max looked over his shoulder with dismay and exasperation. "Y'know. I'll always be here if ya DO wanna talk." "Yeah," Max flatly responded and nodded as he went into his room.

After putting up his skateboard and guitar, Max flopped onto his bed. Looking at the ceiling, he began to reflect on the events of the day. After only a few weeks of the new school year, nearly all of Max's 8th grade goals and ambitions had already been shot to Hell. Yet another band has spurned him from forming an alliance with them. It seemed as though no matter how much he practiced or what lengths he went to, Max could never find acceptance with anyone other than his clique of companions or his father. **Father**. Why did that word suddenly draw frustration and disturb Max's spirit? It was quite simple; the city's perception of his clumsy parent. Ever since their days in Spoonerville, Goofy was always perceived as the village idiot that always got in people's way, despite his good intentions. The only one that stuck by his side through the slanders was Max. However, even THAT was starting to come into question. As a young boy Max faced harassment and assaults for being poor, being the new kid at school, and especially for the worst reason of all; being Goofy's son. There were even times that teachers felt that Max would grow up to be a blundering fool like his father. Upon moving from Spoonerville to Duckburg, Max thought that he would be able to start life anew. In the beginning, he felt that he was free of the slanders and stigma of his hometown. Once Goofy became familiar with the city and vice versa, however, that same infamous reputation once again reared its ugly head. And the mishap at the elementary school talent contest only solidified the ill-conceived ignominy.

The more Max thought about it, the more his doubt and frustration with Goofy began to fester. To calm his nerves, he grabbed his guitar and began to play a soothing song on it. Although the audition was a complete failure, he still felt solace in music. It was something that, even in the darker days of his childhood, always managed to instill a sense of hope in his spirit. Hope, no matter how little, still existed.

 *****Pete Household*****

"Damn it!" Pete yelled, "It's not enough that I haven't sold a car in weeks! Apparently, there aren't as many suckers in Duckburg as I hoped!" He looked at a list of task he had compiled while surveying his home. "But just look at this thing! There's no way in hell I'm going to make it to the lake this weekend with a grocery list's worth of chores." Pete went to the living room and sat in the comfort of his recliner to calm his nerves. He massaged his temple and groaned, "There's got to be some kinda way I can pass this off on some moron so I can enjoy my day at the lake in peace." Rubbing his chin, Pete began to think of some a plan. "Hmmm. I could give the work to that idiot Goofy, but he'd probably wreck the damn house." He continued to ponder and ponder, "Certainly can't give it to his boy. That kid won't even give it a second thought unless there's money involve. HA! As if I'd give him one red cent…" Just then, it seemed like all Pete's troubles would be solved. He heard the wheels of his son's skateboard coming closer and closer to the house. "Bingo." He grinned as he grabbed his newspaper.

PJ walked into the house in a bit of a slump. He noticed his father reading the newspaper as soon as he came through the door. PJ was adamant on staying out of his father's way, for knew very well dire consequences would follow. He quietly closed the door and tip-toed to the stairway. Before he was able to make it up the first step, a sinister voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "And just where do you think YOU'RE going?" Pete said from his recliner. PJ knew he was in for it, but had to respond to keep his punishment to a minimum. "W-well, I was just heading up to my room, sir," PJ replied. Pete set down his paper with a grimace. "To do what? Lay around and slack off, all day?!" He could see the fear in PJs eyes. Pete KNEW he had finally found his lackey. "I guess work ethic still hasn't sunk in yet, has it?! That's what you get for wasting all your time slacking off and playing music!" Pete came closer to PJ and continued, "Speaking of which, how'd that so-called "audition" of yours go?" "Well…I…y-y'see," PJ struggled to come up with a good excuse on why he was rejected from a band yet again. "JUST AS I THOUGHT! Didn't get in, did ya?" Pete said with his arms folded. PJ just frowned and answered, "N-no sir." "PROVES MY POINT! You're just wastin' your life away chasin' behind everyone else's dreams. History repeats itself again, I see, but you still don't get it." The harsh criticism PJ received was quite discouraging, but Pete remained focused on his plans. "So here's what's gonna happen. This weekend, you're gonna do something more constructive by getting this whole house in tip top shape!" Pete handed PJ the extensive list of chores. "THE WHOLE HOUSE?!" PJ cried. "That's right! And I'd better not see one leaf in those drains, one speck of dust, or one overgrown blade of grass, or there's gonna be hell to pay? YA HEAR?!" "Y-yes sir," PJ stammered. Pete grinned deviously, "Good. Now get upstairs. You may wanna get all the rest you can. You're gonna need it." As he watched his father storm away and turn on the television, PJ painfully thought, _"Just when I thought my week wasn't already a wreck…"_

* * *

 ** _Well, that's all the time I've got. Max and PJ were going after a sweet gig. Unfortunately, things went sour after a bitter stroll down memory lane (peep that wordplay). This chapter is a bit of a long one, but hopefully it makes up for my absense. Chapter 5 is already in the works, so that one's gonna be up sooner than you think...FOR REAL THIS TIME. Kudos if you can guess what song the boys are singing. Or you can just google it. I dunno._**

 **_Be sure to spread this around like a sickness. Constructive criticism and feedback makes me a man-child. With that being said, thanks for passing through. Your views mean way more than you can fathom. Dueces and best wishes to you n your's!_**


	6. Ch 5: Puppy Love

**Disclaimer: All characters mentioned in this story belong to Disney. I own nothing.**

 _ **Yep. I'm late. Been busy. Sue me. Nevermind. I'm kidding. I ain't got money like that.**_

 _ **Anyway, it's time for a brand spankin' new chapter of D-SET: Trouble Never Comes Alone! This chapter revoles around Louie and Max, but they also run into two new characters. Who could they be? Let's find out!**_

* * *

 **Puppy Love**

 _Near Downtown Duckburg…_

On Friday after school, Louie and Max decided to take a trip to one of the city's skate parks to relieve the woes of their school week.

Once Max and Louie arrived at the skate park, the commenced their session. An hour later, however, what started as a casual skate session gradually turned in a friendly competition between the two. "Alright; nollie with a frontside nosegrind," Max declared. After getting a running start, Max hopped on his skateboard. After gaining solid momentum, Max tapped the nose of the board with his foot, enabling him to jump. He gained just enough height to hover above a nearby rail. Next, Max landed the front truck of his board on the rail and proceeded to grind his way to its end, all while facing a nearby ramp. He finally came to the end of the rail and made a solid landing. "Okay, okay. You got it," Louie nonchalantly said, "I can easily one-up that, though." He grabbed his board called, "Kickflip, Backside tail grind, frontside 180. Leggo." Louie hopped on his board and initiated his first trick by using his toe to flip the board to the heel side in the midst of performing an Ollie. After executing his first move, Louie used the back truck of his skateboard to grind the same rail Max used, except he had his back turned to the ramp. Upon reaching the end of the rail, Louie spun 180 degrees, facing the ramp, and made a smooth landing.

"Eh. I'll give it a 7.5 or 8 at best," Max said to mask the fact that he was impressed. "Quit hatin'," Louie replied, "Huey and Dewey would've said I murdered it." "If that's what'll help you sleep at night," Max teased, "P.J. knows I've got my skills on lock-down. But he's stuck at home." "Sucks for him," Louie said as he did random tic-tacs on his board, "What happened to him, anyways?" "Yeah," Max began, "We were both supposed to meet up with you, but Peej had to cancel at the last minute because his dad said he had to do grunt work." Louie shook his head in disappointment and said, "Damn. His dad NEVER cuts him a break, does he? It's all good, though. It kinda saves you the embarrassment of being shown up!" Max laughed and replied, "Wow. Denial, much? You haven't even SEEN the best I got!" "And just what are you hiding under your sleeve?" Louie said in amusement. "Just watch!" On that note, Max climbed to the top of a half-pipe and immediately dropped in. Louie stood back and observed in excitement as Max performed various stylish tricks. _"All or nothing!"_ Max thought. Once he was airborne on one end of the halfpipe, Max pulled a 180 but landed on the top of the half-pipe while doing a handstand. "Hoooooo-ly hell," Louie said completely awestruck. Max wasn't done yet. For his next feat, he used his upper body strength to pull the tail of his skateboard and carefully began to shimmy his way to the top. "Yooooo! Rip it, Max!" Louie cheered. Max slowly extended one arm away from his body and balanced the board with the other hand. The inexplicable feat was beginning to grab the attention of other skateboarders. Suddenly, a strong breeze disrupted Max's stability. "NononononononoNONONONO!" Max yelped. _"THAT didn't sound good,"_ Louie thought. With nothing either of them could do to prevent an imminent catastrophe, Louie only watched as his friend screamed in fear, plummeting to an agonizing result.

 _*KA-THUNK!*_

Louie cringed upon witnessing his friend crashed to the bottom of the half-pipe. As other patrons in the skate park commented or laughed at the incident, Louie quickly rushed to Max's aid. Max lay moaning on the pavement and Louie cried, "Dude! Are you alright?! If you're dead, at least tell me something!" Max struggled to an upright position with surprisingly only a few scrapes. "Miraculously…yeah. I…I actually survived," Max responded. Louie shook his head and said, "Shouldn't have tried it, bro." The look on Max's face towards his friend was not one of amusement. "You're right. Next time, I'll be sure to listen to my friends. They care SOOO much about me," he sarcastically said. "Well, yeah. We always try to look out for each other. Who better can you trust than your bros, right?" Louie cheerfully replied, obviously oblivious to the snide remark. Max face-palmed and thought, _"God. Why the hell do I even hang out with him?"_

Thereafter, Louie and Max ended their skate session and started heading home, picking up a couple of comics on the way. "I'm tellin' ya, man. It's gotta be Mantis Boy; All day, every day. He's the reason I first started playing the violin and getting into strings," said Louie. "So basically, you just admitted to getting your musical influence by a fictional character that dresses like an over-sized bug? Eh. Sounds like something you'd do," Max joked. "Well, damn. Drop a load on my essence." "Hey, man. That's what true friends do. But don't get me wrong. I mean, Mantis Boy's cool n' all, but…" There was a sudden sense of dead air. "But what? Can't come up with any cons? Just admit that M.B. is the best there is, was, and ever will be," Louie said. He then noticed that his canine buddy was in a bit of a trance. "Uh, Max? You good, bro?" He tried to snap Max out of his trance with little avail. Max was too distracted and practically drooling over his distant crush, Roxanne. Roxanne, a beautiful ginger-headed dog in a teal t-shirt and blue jean shorts, was strolling through town with a friend. " _Not THIS again_ ," Louie thought. Max just stood there basking in Roxanne's glory until Louie suggested, "Dude. Stop stalling and go talk to her! You've been dodging this since last year!" "What?! No, man! I mean…s-she might be busy or something," Max stammered. "It's cool, Max," Louie calmly reassured with a hand on Max's shoulder, "I've got your back on this." "Really? Hey, thanks Louie. I really-" "HEEEEEY! ROXANNE!" Max could not believe his eyes or ears. "YOOOO! MY BOY MAX SAYS HE WANTS TO TAL-Oomph!"

 _*THWUMP!*_

Before he knew it, Louie was on his back against the concrete with his beak muffled by Max's hand. "The hell are you doing?!" Max angrily whispered. "Rr drnnr! Rr frrrgrrhd drrt krd hrr rrrtrrrchrn!" Louie mumbled (Translation: "I dunno! I figured that'd get her attention!").

"Um, is he okay?" Surprisingly, Louie's impulsive tactic actually worked, as Roxanne and her friend were standing over them. Max's heart leaped into his throat as he struggled to gather himself. Louie glared at him thinking, "WOULD YOU GET THE HELL OFF ME N' MAKE A MOVE ALREADY?!" Max swallowed his pride and thought up a quick excuse. "Oh, uh…h-he's fine. He just slipped n' bailed on his skateboard. Must've hit a crack in the sidewalk or somethin'. Just wanted to check on him…hehehe," Max nervously said. Louie just rolled his eyes as Max helped him to his feet. "Aaaw. That's really sweet how you're looking out for your friend, like that," Roxanne smiled, causing Max to blush feverishly. "Well, ya know. I try. Consider it my good deed for the day," He joked as he bashfully scratched his head. Roxanne giggled sweetly and decided to introduce herself. "My name is-" "ROXANNE!" Max blurted, "Er…I mean…that IS your name, right?" Roxanne nodded in confirmation as Max continued, "I think I saw you around school a few times. You're pretty popular, from what I've heard." "Well, duh. That, and the fact you've been tryin' to get her to notice you since-Uumph!" Louie was cut off by an elbow to his gut before he could finish spilling the beans. "I wouldn't exactly call myself popular, but I've gotten fairly acquainted with everybody pretty quickly," Roxanne replied, "My family moved out here from Spoonerville a little over a year ago." "Spoonerville? Heh! Call it a coincidence, but that's actually where I'm originally from," Max grinned, "Name's Max. Max G. And this is my bro, Lou. So, who's your friend?" Next to Roxanne's side was a brunette dog dressed in a sunhat, glasses, red flares with a matching tank top, and a lavender cardigan. "I just happen to be the class president, buuuut I'm sure you've heard of me." "Oh, right! Stacey's the name, right?" Louie asked. Stacey nodded and replied, "Mm-hmm. Nailed it, dude. Nice to meet you and your friend," she said with a grin equipped with braces. "Same here," Louie and Max replied.

"You know, I didn't expect to run into a fellow Spoon City native. Hehehe. My family used to stay on the south end of town. What part of town did you stay in?" Roxanne asked. Max scratched his head in uncertainty before reluctantly answering the question. "Well…er…I used to stay on the…" "Um…say again?" said a perplexed Roxanne. "I stayed on the w… s…" Max mumbled the last two words to the point it was hardly audible. "Nope. Still couldn't hear you," Stacey said. "Dude, just friggin' tell her," Louie insisted with a dirty look on his face. Max sighed and truthfully answered, "I used to stay on the west end near downtown Spoonerville. Pure Meadows Trailer Park." "YIKES! That's a pretty rough area," Roxanne responded in a bit of uneasiness. "Yep. Totally the reaction I was expecting, but that's beside the point," Max shamefully replied, "Let's get back to the intros. So, Stacey. What part of Spoon City or YOU from?" "Spoon City? No, man. I'm not from Spoonerville. I'm actually from Astoria, Oregon. My folks just moved out here because…eh…I guess the just felt like moving," Stacey casually answered. "Aaaaaand you just lost all relatability to such an engaging conversation. Not even a CALISOTA native. Blacklist her, Max." "Lou, shut the hell up," Max sighed, shaking his head. Stacey only massaged her temple and commented, "Thank you, Max, because I really didn't want to be the one to tell him."

After casual introductions were out of the way, the four teens decided to get better acquainted with each other. In spite of their evident social differences at school, they surprisingly hit it off pretty well. Their conversation topics ranged from least favorite classes to favorite TV shows. Max, Louie, Roxanne, and Stacey conversed for nearly an hour with no signs of boredom. "DUDE! HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE OLIVES ON YOUR PIZZA?!" Stacey exclaimed. The boys were quite astounded by Stacey's passion on a simple subject. "It's a personal preference, alright? Just like extra cheese MY personal preference," Max nervously replied. Louie commented, "Olives on your pizza ARE personal preferences, but who the hell actually eats pizza with jalapeño peppers?" "It's an acquired taste, okay? Hey, wait a second! Why'd you drag ME into this?" Roxanne argued. "Open discussion," the others replied. Roxanne noticed that she was backed into a corner, so she decided to take aim at Louie by saying, "Well, at least I don't order pineapples and anchovies on mine!" "Pineapples AND anchovies; really, Louie? What kinda planet did YOU come from?" Stacey added. "A planet of bosses, but you'd never make it! Anyway, if you haven't at least tried pineapples on your pizza, you haven't lived yet. Don't knock it till you try it," Louie replied. "Told ya he's a weirdo," Max joked. "But hey. Just leave me and my beloved queso be, and MAYBE, JUST MAYBE I'll show your infamous jalapeños and olives a little respect…but only a little." "And what about my pineapples n' anchovies?" asked Louie. "HELL no. You get NO pass for that one; forever exiled." "Fine. I hope you're coping well with all the constipation your 'beloved queso' causes you." The two females laughed at Max and Louie's banter.

Roxanne noticed Max pulling an MP3 player from his backpack and decided to change the subject. "New question. What type of music are you into?" Max leaned against a nearby light post and nonchalantly replied, "Oh, ya know. Nothin' major. Rock, Pop, Hip Hop, Funk. A little bit of this. A little bit of that. Depends on my mood." "Oh, that's awesome!" Roxanne replied ecstatically, "I like to listen to a bit of everything myself." "Hmm. You got anybody particular you listen to?" "Well, yeah! I've recently started listening to that new group called A.S.T." Hearing this, Louie laughed a little. "What? What's the matter?" Roxanne asked. "Don't mind him," Max stated, "It's just that…Louie has a brother that has a…ahem…UNIQUE perspective on the group. That aside, who else do you bump?" "Powerline, of course! I love his vocals, his dance moves, his musicianship, his attitude, and swagger. He's the best!" "Okay. I was wrong. She's a keeper. Looks like you've got competition, though," said Louie, to which Max responded by punching him in the shoulder. "Remind me to kick your ass, after this," he quietly growled before directing his attention back to Roxanne, "ANYWAY, I heard he could be doing a show in Duckburg for his next world tour." "No way! I'd kill to see that!" "That makes TWO of us, Roxanne!" Stacey added.

Things seemed to be going well, but Louie wanted to blow Roxanne's mind. "Funny you mentioned Powerline," he began, "Fun fact; did you know that the homie Max is one HELLUVA dancer?" Louie never ceased to surprise Max; for better or worse. "Oh, really?" said Roxanne and Stacey. "Oh, he's just exaggerating. I'm not that great," Max nervously responded. "NOW, he wants to sell himself short. Don't let him fool you. He could probably match Powerline's moves near perfection. Sometimes, Max and I would battle kids from around Duckburg just for kicks. He's WAY better than me, and TRUST ME; I'm pretty good, if I say so myself," Louie confidently bragged. "SERIOUSLY. I'M NOT THAT GREAT. IT'S NO BIG…" Suddenly, Max, Roxanne, and Stacey heard music coming from Louie's backpack. Max turned to see Louie smiling smugly and waggling an MP3 player in his hand, with an auxiliary cable connected to small portable speakers in his backpack. "Go ahead, bro. Show us what you got," Louie insisted. Max turned to see Roxanne and Stacey smiling in anticipation, waiting to see what Max was capable of. _"I'm either gonna hate him or love him for making me do this,"_ he thought. After catching the rhythm of the song, Max unleashed skills other than those of a guitarist. Each dance step he performed was well improvised and executed with precision. Stacey laughed at the boy in sheer excitement. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Roxanne blushing and playing with her hair during the display. To Roxanne, it seemed Louie was right when he said Max could emulate some of Powerline's steps. Louie once again decided to step in, performing moves of his own. "What are you…" "C'mon, bro," Louie whispered, "Did you REALLY think I'd make it THAT easy for you? Show 'em what you can REALLY do!" And so, yet another battle between the two teens ensued. The friendly competitions between Max and Louie that were not the first occurrences and they certainly wouldn't be the last.

A few short minutes later, the song finally ended, and subsequently, so did the freestyle dance session. "Guys, that was awesome!" Stacey applauded. "I second that! Who knew you could dance like that, Max!" Roxanne added. "Eh, it was nothing major. Just a little bit of light work," Max nonchalantly boasted. Stacey glanced at her watch and said, "Oh! Roxanne, we've got to get to the theater before the movie starts." "I guess you're right! Sorry, guys but we've gotta go. Maybe we can catch up some other time?" Max was taken aback by such a warm-hearted proposition, especially coming from the one he admired. "Uh..Y-yeah! Absolutely! I mean, whenever you're not busy, or whenever I'm not b-"Louie cut him off before he could embarrass him. "We'll see ya on Monday," Louie bluntly interrupted. Roxanne smiled and nodded, "Sounds good. Well, thanks again for the show and it was nice to get to know each other. Bye, Max." Max just smiled and waved awkwardly as Roxanne and Stacey walked off. "I saw that Roxanne," Stacey whispered with a sly smirk. "Saw what?" Roxanne replied. "You like him, don't you?" "What? No! Stop! I mean, we just met!" Roxanne denied, despite blushing furiously.

 _"She actually talked to me. SHE actually talked to ME!"_ Max thought. He came to his senses and shot a dirty look at Louie. "Way to almost screw it up, Lou," said Max. "Screw it up?" Louie replied, "Dude, I just saved you from lettin' 'bae' pass you by! You **should** be thanking me!" Max just scoffed, "I had it under control. You saw it yourself! Hope you learned something, rookie." "Oh, don't gimme that B.S.!" Louie snapped, "Y'know what? Next time you need a wingman, don't call me!" Max just shook his head and chuckled, following his buddy as he walked off in a huff.

* * *

 _ **Ah. To be young and impressionable. Lol Been busy as I previously stated, but I still fought through this one. I'll admit that this was a humorous and fairly fun chapter to write. But consider yourself forewarned; this will be the last entirely humorous chapter you will see for a split second. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. After a few chapters, it'll get a little funny again (temporarily), so don't fret.**_

 **Be sure to spread this around like a sickness. Constructive criticism and feedback** _ **gives**_ _ **me that warm, fuzzy feeling inside. With that being said, thanks for passing through. Your views mean way more than you know. Deuces and best wishes to you n' your's!**_


	7. Ch 6: Throwback

**_Been busy with the daily grind, but D-SET: Trouble Never Comes Alone is STILL truckin'. SCREW THE INTRO! LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!_**

* * *

 **Throwback**

 *****Near Downtown Duckburg*****

"Louie! Hold up, bro!" Max called out in an attempt to quell his dear friend's annoyance. Louie, however, was not willing to deal with his Max's ungratefulness for his assistance in courtship. "Nah. Screw you, Max," he snapped, "This is the last time I try to cover your ass. Get your own chicks next time!" Max continued to laugh, making the situation worse. "Dude, chill. You know I'm only screwing with you," Max pleaded. Still, Louie gave the inconsiderate hound the cold shoulder. "Sometimes, I don't believe you. I do you the simple favor of making sure you don't look like a jackass in front of one of the hottest chicks at school, and you diss me like that?" It seemed like Louie's words were starting to hit home, as Max was starting to feel a sense of remorse. He knew that Louie was, and always has been, one of his friends that would go to great lengths to help those he cared about. It was only fair that Max returned the favor to Louie some way. "Hell, if I would've let you make a move on your own, you probably would've slipped up and made a certain 'laugh' of yours." Okay. NOW, Louie was beginning to press his luck. Max knew exactly what Louie was implying with that remark. Nevertheless, he decided to suppress his anger (for Louie's sake). "You know what? I'm gonna ignore that comment," Max said, "Especially since it'd be pretty difficult to explain to Mr. D why you came home with a black eye." "That's if, AND ONLY IF, you would succeed at planting one on me. And you know how sick my hands are, so good luck with that," Louie retorted, "Consider yourself lucky you're my homie." "Likewise," Max replied, narrowing his eyes. He decided to revert back to his original plan and presented a proposition.

"Anyways, wannabe Love Guru," Max began, "We still have plenty of daylight left. How 'bout we skate downtown and hang out at Scratch N' Riffs for a while?" "You wanna SKATE all the way downtown to Scratch N' Riffs?" Louie queried, "We'll only have about an hour or two before closing time if skate down there! Ain't worth the trouble." "IT WAS AN EXPRE-," before Max could continue his exclamation, he just smacked his forehead and regained his composure, "Nevermind. I meant to say that we could skate to the bus stop near the Clam Station on Anselmo Road, and THEN we're gonna catch the bus downtown." "That sounds like a better plan, but I dunno," Louie replied, "I mean, I'm still kinda mad at you n' all." Max smiled smugly at his friend and whipped out $30 dollars, saying, "Been saving this for a while, but maybe THIS'LL change your mind." "Bus fare?" "And THEN some," Max confidently answered. "Aw, sweet! I've got a 20 in my pocket, too!" That makes it even better," Max added, "Bus usually comes in about 45 minutes. How 'bout get a couple of microwave burritos from the Clam while we wait? Your treat." "Oh, hell yeah! I'm all for…wait. MY TREAT?" "Why, Louie! You shouldn't have! That's a true bro!" Max replied, smiling and playfully shaking Louie's shoulders. "What kinda shit is that?!" Louie cried. Max just nonchalantly explained, "Simple. You're in charge of the food. I'm in charge of the bus fare. No point in ME goin' broke payin' for everything myself, right?" "I hate you," Louie grumbled. "Well, you can hate me all you want on the ride to Scratch N Riffs. For now, hop your ass on your board and let's roll. I'm hungry!" Louie just sighed irritably, grabbed his skateboard and began his excursion with his Max.

Ten minutes of skateboarding later, the boys arrived at the Clam Convenience Store to grab the snacks they desired. "Yo, snag me a bag of Doritos," said Max as he grabbed two rather microwavable burritos- they were large in size but quite cheap. Louie grabbed a couple of soda bottles from the store cooler and replied, "Only got 2 hands, Max. I'll get to em when I get to em. Ranch or Cheese, by the way?" "Surprise me." As Max proceeded to warm up the two Mexican delicacies, Louie made his way to the counter to complete his purchase. "Alright, punk. You actually plan on PAYING me this time? And don't try slidin' me that crayon drawing bullshit your brother pulled," said the cashier, a chubby green and brown mallard. "Against my will, yes. I AM paying," Louie responded, glaring at a giggling Max, "How much are we talkin'?" The cashier gave him a dirty look and began ringing up the items he collected. "Alright, Lou Lou. All done!" Max cheered. "Cool. Let's ring em up n' get outta here. AND STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Louie growled as he punched Max in the shoulder. Max laughed, "Stop! You're gonna screw up the burritos! The one I drop is the one you eat!"

The cashier's patience with the Louie and Max's horse play was quickly wearing thin. "Look, kid. I ain't got all day. Hurry up before you start a line. AND YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW HOW PISSED OFF I GET WHEN A LINE STARTS!" "Wait. If you get pissed at lines, how'd you make it this far at a convenience store?" Max asked. _"I'd hate to see how he reacts waiting at an amusement park,"_ Louie thought. "Just gimme the damn burritos," the cashier barked. Max placed the two scorching hot burritos on the counter top. The second the cashier reached for one of the burritos, he immediately felt the heat; metaphorically and physically. "DAMN!" he yelled, "Why the hell didn't you wait till you paid for this shit first?! Almost burned my got-damn hand off!" "Oh, my bad, dude. Thought it'd be quicker that way," Max replied. "Y'know what?! I'm not even worried about it! Y'all just pissed me smooth the hell off! Just take the damn food n' GET THE HELL OUTTA THE STORE!" the cashier angrily cried. "Can I at least get some change for a Jackson?" Louie asked. The cashier snatched the banknote from Louie's hand and practically tore the cash register open. After a moment of shuffling, he slammed a $10 bill, a $5 bill and five singles on the counter. "Perfect!" said Louie, "Just what we needed." "GOOD! NOW GETCHA ASSES OUTTA MY STORE!" "YOUR store? You're not even the manager!" Max retorted. "NOOOOOOW!" the cashier yelled. Louie and Max irritably made their exit. "Screw it. At least we got free food…again, I guess," Louie commented.

25 minutes passed and the boys consumed their snacks while they waited outside the store. As scheduled, a city bus to downtown Duckburg finally arrived. Once they approached the bus, Max said, "Alright, Lou. Pay up." "Pay up? For what?!" Louie asked in confusion. "Bus fare. What else?" "I thought you said YOU were payin'! What gives?" "Well, I would've paid myself, but only one of us has change," Max replied, "No way in HELL I'm givin' this bus driver my 10 OR my 20." "Why ME?!" Louie griped. Max bluntly replied, "I dunno, Louie. Did you pay for ANY of the food?" "Point taken." "Dude, shut n' pay em. I promise I'll make it up to you when we get there," said Max as he and Louie boarded the bus. "If you don't, that's your ass!" Louie retorted after paying the fee and taking his seat. Despite their arguments, Louie and Max's excitement grew the second the bus departed.

 *****Downtown Duckburg*****

Louie and Max sat in silence and serenity as they watched the hustle and bustle of Duckburg through the bus's windows. Only a mere minutes remained before the city bus would finally reach the destination the boys anxiously waited for; Scratch N' Riffs Music Depot. Scratch N' Riffs is a retailer of everything that is music. This two-tiered establishment offered acoustic and electric instruments, recording technology, CDs and vinyl records, and even offered music lessons. For any level of musician or any diehard music lover, this was the equivalent to a trip to a candy or toy store for a child. This was a place that the crew of Duckburg Junior High misfits visited on numerous occasions to test new instruments and equipment, buy records, or just jam out with each other for fun. No matter how many times they came to this Scratch N' Riffs, the same feeling always resonated within the youngsters (ESPECIALLY Louie).

 ** _***FLASHBACK***_**

Louie was always intrigued by the way radio disc jockeys would mix and scratch songs on one of his favorite radio stations every Friday night. However, the inspirational fire to become a DJ was ignited once he witnessed an old school hip hop act at a Duckburg Music Festival. While his brothers were excited to the watch the rappers perform, Louie found himself entranced by the intricacies of the DJ's turntablism and his ability to rock the crowd. Being the young and impressionable 7 ½-year-old he was, Louie soon went from anxiously anticipating the Friday night mixes to actively studying them. Thereafter, Louie went from studying the techniques to actively getting hands-on practice, which began the first time he set in Scratch N' Riffs. However, a year and a half of practice just wasn't enough, and he sure learned that the hard way.

During the summer following the infamous talent show fiasco, Louie was adamant on becoming a better turntablist and musician. Therefore, Scratch N' Riffs became a place he frequented. When he and his brothers would sneak out at night to invade parties that teens and adults threw, Louie would take it upon himself to sneak over to the turntable stand to see if the seeds of his practice bore fruit. Time and time again, it would prove otherwise when the triplets were kicked out and even CURSED out for crashing the parties. One particular evening went differently, however. Louie, yet again, attempted to practice his skills in front of a live audience, which were still not yet perfected. "Maaaaan, you don't know how to wreck no set, munchkin!" a DJ teased, who happened to be a light brown duck in his early 20s, "Lemme show how _I_ rip shit up!" While his brothers were sent on their way, Louie stuck around and watched in awe at the disc jockey's skills.

It was 1:00 a.m. when the party ended; well past Louie's curfew. Yet, the youngster stayed until it was done. As the turntablist packed up his equipment, the first thing that came out of young Louie's mouth was, "YO! THAT WAS CRAZY!" The DJ chuckled and responded, "Yep. I know. Name's Diego, but just call me by my alias; Dizz Jahkii. And DON'T say 'Mister', kid. Shit makes me sound old," "Okay, Mr- er… I mean…Dizz. My name's Lou," Louie said, "I'm kind of a DJ too, but I've only been doing it for a short while." "I can definitely tell," Dizz bluntly replied. Louie blushed and sheepishly asked, "C-could you teach me how to do that?" The DJ smirked and replied, "You really wanna know how to work the 'Ones n' twos', huh?" Louie vigorously nodded his head. Dizz chuckled and scribbled on a piece of paper. "You free next weekend? Meet me at this address and 11 a.m." he said, "Don't be late, 'cause you DON'T wanna waste my time. Cool?" Louie nodded, "Yeah." "Good. Now, tell me where you stay so I can drop you off. Maybe I can get you home quick enough to lighten the ass-whoopin' your folks are gonna give you." "Oh, right. I forgot about that part," Louie nervously muttered.

A week later, Louie decided to follow through with Dizz Jahkii's request. The address given to him led to a small house just outside of the Downtown Duckburg area. Given so many previous cases and reports of children being kidnapped and/or going missing, Louie was a bit uncertain about entering the building on his own. Yet, something within urged him to continue with his mission. So he decided to listen to his heart and persist.

 _*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*_

There was a brief moment of silence before someone finally opened the door. The respondent was a bit perplexed by the presence of the boy at their doorstep. "Look, kid. If you wanna try sellin' us some candy or some'n, we ain't interested," said a muscular brown hound, roughly 20 years of age. Before the dog could close the door, Louie nervously introduced himself, "Wait! Um…I'm Lou. I-is Diego…er…Dizz Jahkii in?" "Hold up. You're lookin' for DIZZ?!" the hound replied in confusion, "You tryin' to set my dude up, or somethin'?" "N-no! No way! He actually told me to meet him at this address this weekend," Louie anxiously replied. The hound looked at the piece of paper Louie handed to him, and he immediately noticed Dizz's handwriting. "A'ight. Story checks out. C'mon," he said as he escorted Louie inside. Louie followed the hound side the house, which was quite disorganized and unkempt with a rank, odd stench in the air. Judging by the looks of it, this was definitely a bachelor's pad.

The dog lead him to the basement of the house. Louie was quite surprised that a dusty basement was turned into a makeshift music studio, complete with foam absorption, a keyboard, a drum machine, speakers, crates upon crates of vinyl records, and much more. "Yo, Dizz! You got company, bruh," he said. Louie found Dizz Jahkii powering up his equipment. "5 minutes late," Dizz bluntly replied as he looked at Louie. "I know. I'm sorry but…" "So, when the hell did you start babysittin', man? Or maybe you got a baby-mama I don't know about?" the hound joked, completely interrupting Louie's explanation. "Man, shut the hell up, T," Dizz snapped, "Lou, this is my boy and the one that shares this dump with me; T-Dubb. T-Dubb, this is the LIL homie; Lou. You know. The same one from the party I told you about?" T-Dubb laughed and replied, "Man, hell nah! THIS is the one?! Kid, you really are somethin' else! Respect!" Louie scratched his head sheepishly. Dizz commented, "Yeah, but his skills suck, though." "Suck?!" Louie cried. "What? You want me to lie to you? Nope! Not in MY crib," said Dizz. Louie frowned at Dizz's brutal honesty, but after observing his surroundings, he asked, "Is all this stuff yours?" "Yep. Got most of it from a Scratch N' Riffs. Wasn't cheap to get though," T-Dubb answered, being a musician himself, "Me, Dizz, and another friend of ours named Jay come down here and make tracks." "Either that or we just jam out for the hell of it, then we smo- uh…I mean 'meditate', afterward. _Yeah, that's a better word,_ " Dizz commented. "Cool," Louie said in an awestruck tone. "If you look n listen close to what I say n' do, you might learn some of the other shit you were gawkin' at. But for now…"

 _*SNAP*_

With a snap of Dizz's fingers, Louie suddenly felt a strong grip on his arms and found himself levitating from the ground. T-Dubb moved Louie over to a chair near Dizz's turntable setup, saying, "Plant your ass, RIGHT here." "…Lesson 1 starts today," Dizz finished, "And this ain't no instant replay or any of that 'D-D-D-D-DJ DOOKIE STAIN IN DA BUILDIN' B.S. you hear on mixtapes. This is the real deal." Louie and T-Dubb laughed a little at Dizz's remark. With a short scratch of a record, he smirked and said, "You ready, punk?" Louie was a bit nervous of the future challenges he would surely face, but he was equally ecstatic for the lesson to begin. Either way, there was no turning back for the young duckling. With a solemn look in his eyes, Louie confidently responded, "Ready!" "Tch. Alright then. Let's do this."

From that day forward, Louie began a rigorous training routine with Dizz in the basement studio. He learned the ins and outs of the turntables, and he how to mix and scratch different songs and records without breaking a steady tempo. He was educated on the history of DJs and producers, which resulted in Louie immersing himself in studying the production styles of artists of all kinds. With the permission and guidance of his mentors, Louie began subsequently tinkering with more than just turntables, and he later learned how to produce basic instrumentals with their equipment. He found himself visiting Dizz and T-Dubb's basement just to listen to their respective collection of records. Still, that was not enough to satisfy Louie's insatiable hunger for knowledge in the way of the disc jockey. He began to indulge in his Uncle Donald's music collection, which consisted of music from the 1960s to the early 1990s.

Intrigued by the different genres, beats, vocalists, histories, and compositions, Louie's love and obsession for music began to fester to uncontrollable proportions. In fact, it became so uncontrollable that he managed to introduce the variety of sounds to his siblings and new friends (who also returned the favor). While his brothers Huey and Dewey were scraping up money with their own plans, another ingenious plot was formulated. Huey proposed that Louie plays albums from their garage for the neighborhood kids to gain profit. Every requested single would cost 10 cents, and if they wanted to hear an entire album, Louie would charge 20 cents per track. At 10 years old, Louie was learning how to cater to his audience with music. Louie, his brothers, and his friends often bought new and old albums from Scratch N Riffs (if not sometimes outright STEAL them) to help keep his business going. With their help, Louie had an assortment of music that ranged from Maroon 5 to Outkast to Parliament Funkadelic to the Eagles and much more. Despite the modest monetary gain and his turntablism skills quickly sharpening, Louie still felt he hadn't quite earned any credibility as a TRUE DJ.

Louie was 12 years old during the summer break prior to 7th grade. After 3 years of hard work, he was ready to prove himself. While working on an instrumental in Dizz's basement one weekend, Louie said, "Yo, Dizz. When am I gonna get a chance to wreck a crowd, man?" "Wreck a crowd? Man, you'd better take 4 or 5 seats with that bullshit," T-Dubb teased. Louie, frustrated with his lack of exposure, stopped his production and said, "Are you kidding me?! I've been practicing my ass off for the past 3 years! You and T-Dubb BOTH know I got it locked! Just gimme a shot!" Dizz just laughed at Louie's aggravation, which didn't calm him down in the slightest. "Fine. You know what? I'm out!" Before Louie could make it halfway up the basement's staircase, Dizz laughed, "Hold up, lil' homie. Come back." Louie reluctantly stopped in his tracks and walked back into the basement. "What?" Louie irritably responded. Dizz pointed to the turntable set and said, "Gimme a mix. I mean, you wanna try to impress somebody, right?" "Start with us. And YOU know we won't pull punches on you. So, I suggest you don't half-ass this shit," T-Dubb hissed. Louie scowled at the two young men, and as he grabbed his headphones and place his albums on the turntables, he retorted, "Just watch. I'll show you I can kill it."

15 minutes later, Louie finally ended his session. It seemed that he was able to release his frustration in the mix. Louie took off his headphones and said, "Believe me NOW?" T-Dubb nonchalantly responded, "Eh. I GUESS you made some improvements. What about you, Dizz? Do you think he passed the smell test?" … "Dizz? You good?" Dizz just sat there with a stone-faced expression before finally standing and walking away, leaving Louie and T-Dubb confused. He returned moments later with a piece of paper in his hand and handed Louie a new address. "Next Friday. 7 p.m.," Dizz solemnly replied, "Keep practicing…HARD." Louie's eyes gleamed with confidence, and he immediately started another mix to perfect his craft.

Friday evening finally arrived. Louie snuck out of his home again and made his way to the address as Dizz commanded. The setting appeared to be a formerly abandoned loft that was renovated into a nightclub, redesigned with a mezzanine, stage lighting, a bar, and a moderately sized stage. Louie maneuvered his way through the back entrance until he finally reached the DJ booth. "You're on time. I'm shocked," Dizz taunted. Louie just shook his head in annoyance and replied, "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, let me hop on the set and cut, Dizz." "Patience is a virtue, rookie," Dizz responded, "Keep in mind that only 40 or 50 people showed up." "That seems like enough to ME. Let me entertain those 40 or 50, then," Louie pleaded. However, Dizz denied Louie's request. "Sit back and chill for a minute," he said, "Party's just getting started. Gotta warm em up, first." Louie was anxious as ever to take over, but conceded to Dizz's insistence. An hour and a half later, the party began to fill with roughly 80 more patrons. As Dizz continued to fulfill song requests, Louie felt that this was a better time than any to finally have his chance at stunning the crowd. "Dizz, it's startin' to get packed in here, big bro. Take a break n' lemme cut for a little while," he proposed. "Nope," Dizz replied. Louie once again felt his aggravation starting to stir, but only because he could barely contain his excitement. "C'mon, man! It's over 100 people in here, at least! That's MORE than enough!" He cried. "Not to me, it ain't," said Dizz. "If a hundred people in the building isn't enough to you, then you need your eyes checked!" Louie snapped. "You know, the option to send you back home bitchin' and moanin' is ALWAYS on the table. All it takes is a phone call," Dizz irritably responded. Louie looked away and crossed his arms in frustration. "That's what I thought. Shut up n' be cool. Your turn's coming." _"It'd better,"_ Louie thought.

It was 11:00 p.m. From the mezzanine to the bar and dance floor, the building was nearly packed to full capacity with over 250 party goers. At this time, the party was in full swing with everyone enjoying the festivities. Louie fidgeted and gritted his teeth with impatience. All the practice, studying, blood, sweat, and tears he put into this improving his craft seemed like it was all for naught. Other than teaching him the ropes of being a disc jockey, Louie was beginning to feel as if Dizz wasn't keeping his end of the deal. Ultimately disappointed, Louie stood up and prepared to leave the scene. "Lou Lou! You up, baby boy!" Dizz called out. Louie stopped in his tracks spun around to find Dizz leaning against his DJ set. "Don't tell me you're gettin' cold feet on me." Dizz grinned. "NO WAY! Let' do this!" "Not before I give you the proper introduction." Dizz grabbed his mic and announced the arrival of his new protégé. "Ayo, D-Burg!" The greeting immediately caught the attention of the crowd. "I got a special treat for all y'all, tonight! I'm about to fall back for a lil' minute n' let my lil' homie turn this shit up! SO, LADIES N' GENTS, I WANT Y'ALL TO MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE BOY WONDER; DJ LOUP!" _"DJ Loup? I thought he said he wasn't gonna use that name?!"_ Louie thought, referring to the alias Dizz gave him (a play on Louie's shortened name and a sample or drum loop). As the crowd cheered, Louie canceled his thoughts and focused his energy on his prime objective.

Louie only had 10 minutes to make a good impression, but he was certainly confident that it was plenty of time. The stage lights changed to yellow and blue, combining to create Louie's favorite color and giving him the cue to take the stage. Once he made his way to the DJ setup, Louie commenced working his magic. In the beginning, the crowd was not amused by the idea of a pre teen entertaining them in an adult setting. But after a few minutes, it didn't take long for them to concede and submit to the seamless rhythm of Louie's mix. As a young boy that aggressively looked into the sounds that preceded his existence, yet still being impressionable to the current wave of resonations, his mix playfully walked the fine line between old and new music. Howbeit, every transition allowed it to all blend with consistency for the revelry to continue. The time limit was originally 10 minutes, but it soon started stretching to 15 minutes and beyond. This schedule change was met with no complaints, however. Dizz didn't mind the break OR the entertainment. By then, Louie was too entranced in his mix that he didn't want to stop. Be that as it may, all good things must come to an end. After 30 minutes of mixing for the young adults, Louie finally ended his mix as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "MAKE SOME NOISE FOR DJ LOOOOOUP!" Dizz cheered, reclaiming his DJ position and sharing a special handshake with Louie. The crowd went insane with thunderous praise, much to Louie's surprise and delight. Considering the events that transpired, the previously questionable DJ Loup was an alias that Louie would subsequently wear with pride.

After two or three similar gigs, Louie decided to take a trip to Dizz and T-Dubb's house to work on a new instrumental. However, he noticed that T-Dubb was helping Dizz and his girlfriend pack. Dizz told him that he landed a record deal in Los Angeles that would take him to the big time. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to leave Duckburg. Louie was conflicted by the news. While he was supportive, he was quite upset that his friend and mentor would have to depart from his hometown. Nevertheless, Dizz ensured that Louie was talented and dedicated enough to carry the torch. "Like I promised, bruh," Dizz said to T-Dubb, "I got you n' Jay when I get settled in. I PROMISE I'm gonna come back for you two." "I here ya, foo'. I'll keep hustlin' with the beats and gigs until this studio gives me a call about this engineering job. Stay true to your word, ya dig?" T-Dubb replied with the signature handshake of the group. "You've known me for too long. You know I always keep it 100," Dizz reassured as he got in his car, "Just do me a favor n' keep HIS ass outta trouble." T-Dubb playfully smacked Louie's head and joked, "From what I've heard about him n' his crew, that might be a losing battle. BUT, I'll try; key word bein' 'try.'" Before he pulled off, Dizz smiled and said, "Hold it down for me, lil homie!" Louie waved and replied, "Don't sweat it, Dizz. I got ya!" As he and T-Dubb watched the vehicle moving down the road, Louie solemnly thought, " _Best of luck, Diego. Thanks for everything."_

 ** _***END OF FLASHBACK***_**

A month after Dizz left Duckburg that autumn, T-Dubb moved out of the old house without warning. With no lead on where he moved to, Louie couldn't keep tabs on Dizz or T-Dubb's personal status. He often wondered if they were doing well and if he would ever run into them again. Louie felt a sudden jab in his arm that broke his train of thought. He looked up and saw Max looking at him. "Dude, wake up!" he said, "The bus is pulling up to the store!" Louie growled, "Hit me again, n' I'll break your wrist, Max. Let's see how well you play guitar after that." "Quit cryin' and let's go before the bus pulls off," Max teased. The boys walked off the bus and made their way to Scratch N' Riffs ecstatically. Even though his reputation of a credible DJ was starting to dissipate since Dizz's departure, Louie was determined to utilize the current opportunity to keep his skills sharp, just in case. He promised he wouldn't let his mentor down. THAT vow, he would travel to the ends of the earth to ensure he'd keep.

* * *

 _ **This month was busy as hell, people. Very little availability to post this. I'm gonna say that off the bat. But a brief vacay is coming for me next week, so hopefully, I can whip out another chapter for you lickity-split...after a Bruno Mars concert. (Hey, I need inspiration, too!)**_

 _ **While this might not be the BEST chapter, so far, I felt it was best to give the readers a good insight on how each member has improved (before they all meet, of course). On the plus side, you've been introduced to a future character and also enlightened on the origin of one of the group members' aliases.**_

 _ **Be sure to spread this around like a sickness. Constructive criticism and feedback make me sleep soundly at night. With that being said, thanks for passing through. Your views mean way more than you know. Deuces and best wishes to you n your's! Outie 5000 (can't believe I just typed that)!**_


	8. Ch 7: Neck of the Woodz

_**After 3-4 slump-ish and busy months, I have finally gotten this chapter updated. I'm happy to be back in the mix, so here ya go! Time to pick it up where Chapter 6 left off!**_

* * *

 **Neck of the Woodz**

 *****Downtown Duckburg- Scratch N' Riffs Music Store*****

Having finally made it to the music retailer, Max and Louie decided to go wild. After a few moments of arguing on what to do first, the two agreed to go up to the 2nd floor of the building to check out the store's record collection. Louie flipped through a couple of albums and came across a vinyl record with a snazzy-dressed light brown dog with a Pompadour hairstyle, flashing his fancy watch. "Yo, Max. Check this one out. Morris Day n' The Time." "Oh? Which album? Their first one? 'What Time Is It?' 'Ice Cream Castles?' 'Pandemonium?'" Max asked as he listed the band's complete discography. "Damn, MG. You know all of their albums, huh? Wouldn't be surprised if you knew about the features and underground music they sold on the black market," Louie joked, "But it's the second album; What Time Is It?" Max flipped the album around and took a look at its back cover. In addition to the album's track listing, there was a large picture of The Time's 6 band member's, each dressed in sharp suits like the aforementioned frontman, lined up against a wall with a painted sign saying "Girls" (perhaps it was leading them to a gentleman's club). Louie commented, "Man, these dudes were- Wait; STILL ARE- some pimps." "True," Max agreed, "Morris Day always kills me with the stuff he does on stage. I saw The Time at a festival when I was about 8. Only a few minutes after the band got on stage and started playing, Morris grabs the mic and yells, "Ya like my suit?! Well, you should, cause y'all are the ones that bought it!" Louie laughed at the remark and said, "See?! That's what I like about Morris Day, man. He's a douchebag, but he's the lovable and funny kind of douchebag…with swag." "Lovable? Well, I'll be damned. Didn't know you felt that kinda way about him. I can't believe I'm friends with one of his groupies-in-training." Louie rolled his eyes at Max's quip.

"Anyways," Louie said, "What do YOU think about the band?" Max just hunched his shoulders. "Eh. I got mixed feelings about 'em." "How come?" Louie asked as he flipped to more vinyl records. Max began his explanation by saying, "Don't get me wrong. I still love their music. 'Cool,' 'Get it Up,' 'The Walk,' 'The Bird,' 'My Drawers,' 'Jungle Love,' 'Ice Cream Castles,' '777-9311,' just to name a few." "You're just naming those songs cause you know how to play and sing 'em damn near perfectly," Louie said. "Guilty as charged," Max boasted. "Speaking of which, Dewey still gets so pissed that he hadn't nailed that drum groove to '777-9311,'' Louie chuckled. Max nodded, "Yeah, I remembered that time he lost it and just chunked his sticks across the store. He nearly got us banned from here! But as I was saying, they're a great band and kick ass in live performances. But I just feel they'd be more credible if they wrote their own music back then."

Louie took a moment to ponder on that statement. Then, it all hit him. "Ooooh. That's right. Prince wrote and produced most of their music behind the scenes, didn't he?" "Nailed it," Max answered, "He did some stuff for Vanity 6, Sheena Easton, and Sheila E. Prince definitely had his hand in a lot of stuff. He was a creative genius in his prime!" "Either that or a colossal control freak," Louie commented, "But keep this in mind, MG. The Time was startin' to outshine Prince on stage. I remember reading a web interview where the Time said Prince was tellin' them not to do certain songs when it was their turn to hit the stage. And like the badass pimps they were, they did it anyway." "Well, he DID write their music and produced their records. He kinda had the green light to tell 'em what not to perform," Max contested. Louie shook his head and replied, "So you're really riding for somebody cock-blocking your notoriety, eh? Sure, Prince's creativity is unmatched, but he didn't wanna see too many of his protégés doin' better than him. He knocked The Time off the bill on numerous occasions, made them play back-up for Vanity 6 right after playing their own set list, and even fired Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis when they got caught in a friggin' snow storm. Thank God those two turn into one of THE BEST production teams ever." "Keep in mind that if it wasn't for 'Purple Rain,' STILL PRINCE'S INFLUENCE, the group wouldn't be nearly as big!" Max argued. "Art reflected reality, Max. Prince and The Time were rivals in real life! You DO realize they were able to hold shit down on their own, right? Probably why he started a friggin' food fight with the band…AND MADE THEM PAY FOR IT!" Louie responded, gradually getting more passionate about the subject. Instead of fanning the flames with the inconceivable knowledge he acquired over the years, Max just sighed in frustration and moved on to the next album.

"Hey, look. It's Outkast," he said. "Still gotta thank you for puttin' me and PJ onto these guys a few years back." "Well, of course. How could you ever forget your first introduction to DOPE rap music? Heh. You're welcome, by the way," Louie bragged, "Aah, I remember that magical moment you and Huey challenged each other playing those riffs in 'Rosa Parks.'" Louie wiped his eyes, pretending to shed a tear of happiness, "Such a magical moment." Max rolled his eyes. "Anyway, which album ya got?" Louie asked. Max held up a CD and replied, "Speakerboxxx and The Love Below. Haven't gotten THIS one yet, but I heard most of the album." Louie sighed in despair. "The beginning of the end," he said. Max looked in confusion, "The hell are you talking about?" Louie shook his head and answered, "I have some…ahem…thoughts about one of the greatest hip-hop groups of all time." Louie casually leaned against one of the walls of the store and began his thesis. "It's just that…once you get used to such a great combination, it's hard to see them as separate entities. I mean, don't get me wrong. Ya got Big Boi spittin' his bars from a pimpish-hustler and gangsta-style point of view, giving you a view of the world from a street-smart perspective. And THEN…whoooo boy," Louie giggled with a huge grin, "Then there's the mystical unicorn known as Andre 3000. His bars are pretty complex and he can do a street stuff as well, but his style is more reflective of his surroundings and comes more from his feelings about what's going on around him. It's stuff that still hits hard today." "Right!" Max agreed, "Their personalities were so different, but they were both coming from the same place. Just telling their stories from two different perspectives. Add that to those weird and funky beats they were on, and you've got some vicious material!" "Mmhmm. And to see these two do their own separate albums only gave us the signal that they were gonna separate. And sure enough…" "Dude," Max interrupted, "You DO realize they made another album…AND a movie for that album, right? Idlewild ringing a bell at all?" Louie paused for a second. It seemed like Max's musician knowledge had exceed his own in that instant. "Well, Big Boi's still putting out music, at least," Louie weakly argued.

After an hour of discussing (and arguing about) some of their favorite artists, Louie and Max made their decisions about which albums they wanted. As they walked to the front of the store Louie whispered, "Alright. Think we'll be able to make a quick enough break?" "What?!" Max snapped, "Dude, no! We're not doin' that, this time." "Ah, so you figured out a way to disarm that alarm in the back door, huh? That's gonna make it THAT much easier." "No! I didn't…just follow me," Max grumbled. Max led Louie to the cash register, snatching Louie's record of choice from his hands. "Ring 'em up!" Max bluntly stated, causing the cashier to immediately scan the albums. "Max, what the hell? Even though it's a sale, these are gonna cost at least 15 bucks. That's all I got on me!" "That'll be $16.87," the cashier said. Before Louie could even object, Max pulled out a twenty dollar bill and replied. "Pleasure doin' business." "Oooooh. I see what you did there. Good lookin' out, bro," Louie said with a smirk. "Sure. Anytime but next time," Max teased as he received his change from the cashier. Louie anxiously grabbed his records and speed off from the cashier, which obviously confused Max. "Lou!" he said, "The exit's THAT way!" "I know. That's why I'm goin' THIS way!" Louie responded. Max rushed after his friend to convince him to do otherwise, stating "Dude, the bus back home rolls in around the same time the store gets ready to close." "It can wait," Louie cheerfully replied as he headed to a new section of the store.

Max irritably walked to the trail Louie was leading. As a result, Louie led Max to a room containing a DJ set up; Turntables, a Mixer, and two drum machines. Louie grinned devilishly as he began to adjust the settings on the equipment and placed his records on the turntables. "Figure I'd give these a test drive," Louie said. "Yeah, but why now?" Max asked. "Why not?" Louie answered with shrugged shoulders, "You know I can't take any of this stuff home. I may as well make it last until the next time I come down here." Considering how their funds to acquire such expensive items were understandably limited, Max conceded to his friend's request. "Ah, screw it. We've got time, so do you. But you know I'm gonna let you know if I think it sucks, right?" "Don't worry. You won't," Louie boasted. Louie fiddled with the presets of the drum machines as he pressed the pad buttons to find just the right sounds. The young drake pondered aloud as he experimented with each noise. "Nah. Too flat…Hmm. I'll use this one…Ugh! The hell kinda kick is THIS? Hell no...Wooohooohoo! I LIKE this one!" Max waited for 15 minutes as Louie selected the kick, snares, hi-hats, cymbals and any other sounds necessary to begin his composition. Another 10 minutes of waiting passed as Louie searched for the perfect sample from his newly purchased records, but another 10 minutes was needed to slice the sample into the pieces he needed. After 40 minutes, It seemed as though Louie was finally ready to begin creating his beat…BUT, he still needed to adjust the individual sound levels, add effects such as reverbs, delays, compression, and- "JESUS, LOUIE! JUST MAKE SOMETHING! DAMN!" Max yelled. "Silence! There's an art to this. You'd never understand!" Louie snapped. " _Sure as hell better be some art worth 40 minutes of waiting,_ " Max thought.

It only took another 15 minutes to for Louie to actually compose his beat. He started off with the drums of the beat; the powerful kick, gritty reverberated snare, and crisp hi-hat and cymbal crashes were all rhythmically clocking in at 94 beats per minute. Next was the sample. It took him about 15 minutes, but with the sliced pieces of the sample, Louie managed to string together two separate loops (each being 4 measures long for transitions with both flowing seamlessly). Once everything was composed, Louie finally synchronized the separate loops to create a full-fledged beat. Judging by the way Max's head swayed gently from right to left (and the obvious smile on his face), the beat received Max's approval. However, Louie still felt like it was missing something, and he knew exactly what it was. Louie looked at Max with a sly smirk, arching his eyebrow. Max knew what Louie wanted, but resisted the urge in lieu of the metro's upcoming arrival. Louie leaned on the DJ setup, still staring Max down with the same smirk. Max conceded once again, walked away and sighed, "Fine! You win. Just gimme a second." "Tch! I knew you'd break!" Louie joked.

Max returned with an electric guitar and a small amplifier. "Whenever you're ready…" Louie calmly said as he played the beat once again. It only took the first 8 measures of the beat and Louie's scratching for Max to jump in and play a funk-rock guitar riff that fitted perfectly. What followed for several minutes was the center of musical attention gravitating back and forth between the two musicians. Max would play guitar for 8 measures, and Louie would scratch for 8 measures. While they would compete against each other in this regard, they never tried to outshine each other. As distinct as their two musical influences and even styles once were before their friendship, they blended surprisingly well on many occasions. This was the TRUE meaning of "Scratch N' Riffs."

What felt like a 5 or 10 minutes was actually another hour before the boys finally decided to put their jam session to rest. "Man, if PJ was here, he could've put a sick bassline over this beat," Max proclaimed. "You're probably right!" Louie agreed, "And I KNOW Hue and Dew would've spit some ill bars, too!" The two took a few moments to think about the many possibilities that could've unfolded had their friends been there.

 _"_ _Attention all Scratch N Riff shoppers! The store will be closing in 5 minutes! The store WILL BE CLOSING in 5 minutes! Thank you for shopping here with us at Scratch N Riffs!"_

That startling announcement snapped them back into reality. "Yo! We forgot about the bus!" Louie cried. Louie and Max set down their equipment, grabbed their records, and bolted for the exit in hopes to catch the bus just in time. However, by the time they made it outside, the metro had already pulled off. "C'mon! Maybe we can catch up to it!" Max yelled. The two chased the bus as fast as they could, bumping into random pedestrians. Unfortunately, they were too slow as the metro was well on its way down the street. "DAMN IT!" Max yelled angrily, "Lou, you dumbass! I told you we'd miss the bus if we stayed to long!" "Dude, you're in this just like I am! Besides, I didn't hear you complaining earlier!" Louie contested. "I GAVE YOU A FRICKIN' WARNING! THAT'S THE POINT!" Max shouted. "Yeah, but…yeah. Actually, good point," Louie admitted sheepishly, "Still, it was a dope beat, right?! Eh?!" Max just glared at Louie with a dirty look.

Rather than sit around and wallow in frustration and guilt in Max and Louie's respective cases, the boys chose to figure out a way back home. "Alright, MD," Louie began, "I'm holdin'…let's see…$15. How much ya got?" Max dug into his pocket and counted the leftover change. "I've got $13.13." "Think that's enough to catch a cab or somethin'?" "Far from it," Max answered, shaking his head, "From what I heard, these things charge by the mile. Considering the bus trip took us 20 or 30 minutes from the Clam station, we'd probably come up short if a taxi took us back. Plus, there's two of us. Chances are the driver's gonna charge us extra." "Fair enough," Louie sighed. As he observed the rays of the sunset glistening off the surrounding buildings, Louie came up with a risky but efficient plan. "Yo, Max. Willing to skate down over to the East side?" That statement alone rose a red flag. "The Eastside? What kinda business do we have over there?" Max responded. Louie could only agree with him, but he had a reason for the suggestion. "There's a bus station right around the corner from where we used to live. They have a corner store just in case we need to grab somethin' to eat or make a phone call home." "And you're sure there's a bus stop there?" Max said in an unconvinced tone. "Yeah. Me and the fam used to catch that bus damn near everywhere. Even when Uncle Don was lookin' for a new house…"Louie replied, referring to his current residence. Max knew this was a sketchy plan, considering he was well aware that East Downtown Duckburg was a sketchy area. Yet, Max trusted Louie's word since Louie, his brothers, and uncle were former locals in that district. "This better work," Max flatly said as he got on his skateboard. Louie hopped on his board as well and led the way.

 *****Downtown Duckburg- East Side Slums*****

It was twilight by the time Louie and Max reached a stopping point in East Downtown Duckburg. As they walked the streets, they overall visuals of the slums were all too familiar to them both, but the vibe still a bit unsettling. The general vicinity was dimly lit by the traffic signals and headlights of occasional oncoming vehicles, let alone by what few street lights actually worked. The cracked, rugged and litter ridden asphalt was a far cry from the neatly paved streets of the Duckburg Suburbs, and even the main metropolitan area. The rancid scent of sewer water was evident as always was. Louie further observed his family's old stomping grounds. Many of the buildings in the area, inhabited or abandoned, were riddled with obscenities spray painted in graffiti. Whether he was a former native of this part of town or not, the grimaces on the citizens' faces looked none too inviting. Louie felt the despair. He felt the tension and discomfort. He even felt sadness, reminiscing about the hardships his family had to endure before migrating to the suburbs. But he did not feel fear. For better or worse, this was Louie's hometown. "Home sweet home, huh?" Max commented with a dreary tone, "I get the same feeling coming visiting my folks back in the trailer park." "Bet nothin' changed their either, has it?" Louie sighed. Max shook his head and answered, "Not a damn thing." "Figures…"

"How much longer we gotta walk, Lou?" Max asked as they continued to walk through the slums. Louie surveyed the area and immediately recognized a familiar corner market he used to visit in the distance. It seemed as though his memory of his old hood was still fairly fresh in his mind. "It's just up the street, actually," Louie said. "Good. Let's get the hell outta here. You're paying the fare again since it's your fault, by the way," Max replied. "Making me pay again, eh? Whatever. Just this once, I'm not even gonna argue with that," Louie submitted. At this point, he was relieved that he and Max would be able to get home.

While the final stretch to the bus stop seemed to be within an arm's reach (metaphorically speaking), the two friends couldn't shake a sudden feeling that they were being followed. Louie and Max continued to walk without losing their equanimity, but the tension and uneasiness still lingered if not intensified. As they suspected, the boys saw a group of suspicious young men following them through the corner of their eyes. There seemed to be about four of them on two teens' trail, but the darkness of nightfall prevented them from discretely identifying their stalkers. Suddenly, one of the males sped up his stride to get right on the side of Louie, and another snuck up right beside Max. Before either of the two had a chance to react, the culprits quickly clinched Max and Louie. The boys fought and struggled to break free from the goons' clutches, but were aggressively dragged into a back alley and body slammed onto the pavement with agonizing force.

Regaining their composure, Louie and Max arose to find themselves surrounded by 8 malicious thugs, all being taller and bigger than them both and appearing to be no younger than age 17 or 18. "Who the hell are you?!" was the first question that came out of Louie's mouth. The apparent ringleader of the crew, a tall dog with unkempt hair, walk forward and responded, "Good question, chicken shit. I was just about to ask you the same thing." "Yeah. Y'all don't look like y'all from 'round here. You lost?!" said another thug, a scowling burly black duck. "Not from 'round here? I used to stay around the corner from here!" Louie opposed. A thin hound with sagging trousers shoved Louie from behind and said, "Bullshit! 'USED TO' ain't 'RIGHT NOW!'" Despite rising tensions, Louie and Max held their ground and refused to be intimidated by the ruffians. A slender cat turned his attention to Max. "What about this lil' mark ass busta? Where YOU from, bitch?" "Neverland. Ever heard of it?" Max retorted with a glare. His comment didn't make matters any better as there was evident irritation on the thugs' faces. "OH! Looks like we got a gotdamn comedian up in here!" Louie remained tough but decided to be tactful in his approach in hopes he wouldn't have to square up with the goons. Nevertheless, his expectations were low.

"Look, man. We ain't here for static. We're just tryin' to get home. What're you trippin' about?" Louie calmly said. The leader of the group responded, "We trippin' 'cause faggot-ass outskirt bitches, like y'all two, think they can walk through my hood like it ain't shit. And as far as I can see, nobody's paid their dues." "So, we came here to collect. You gets no pass," said a brown Duck, "Whatever ya holdin', give it up!" Two other thugs grabbed the skateboards Max and Louie dropped in the struggle and snapped them in half, eliminating potential chances of escape. One of the goons pulled out a switchblade to further solidify the teens' entrapment. "I don't suggest you two make this hard," said the goon. The odds were greatly stacked against them, but Max wasn't willing to submit to their demands. "That's not happening," he said, "You're not getting a dollar OR a dime out of us." Louie wholeheartedly supported his friend. "I second that. We barely got enough to try to get back to where we came from since I'm not welcome to come back home. Speakin' of which, you're still in our way. So move around!" He said aggressively. It was apparent that diplomacy was no longer optional, and since "flight" ability was out of the question, Max and Louie knew they would have to fight their way out of the predicament. "These lil' pricks are startin' to piss me off! I say we waste 'em!" said one of the goons. The leader came forward and approached his two victims with a sinister smirk on his face. "Hold up. So what's the problem? Why ya in such a hurry to run home, anyway? You gettin' uncomfortable? Or maybe your mamas gettin' worried?" Max and Louie had a feeling what dangerous territory the goon was about to tread onto, but they held their ground. "Nah, son. That ain't the case," said another of the 8 troublemakers. "Them bitches probably too busy out on a hoe stroll. Why do you think their kids runnin' the streets in the first place?" What little bit of composure Max and Louie had was quickly starting to slip away in favor of long-suppressed pain and anger. How dare these insensitive miscreants speak of their relatives in such a vulgar context? "Yeah, you made a good point. I mean, hey!" The leader commented, winking at Max. "Mama's gotta get them knees dirty to keep the lights on, right?" Another goon threw the final grains of salt in the wounds that would ignite the flames of rage by hissing, "Just make sure you tell those hoes they'd better have my bread before this night's over with. Since their kids can pay what they owe!"

 _*THWACK!*_

"ASSHOLE!" Max growled, grabbing the leader by his blue jacket and giving him a hook to the jaw. Louie followed suit by giving the knife carrying thug a devastating blow to his stomach. "PISS OFF!" he yelled in uncontainable rage. "That's where you just slipped up. Bury em!" The leader barked. He rushed to his feet and began his assault on Max. Needing no further instructions, three of the four goons assisted their leader in pummeling Max while the remaining four hoodlums locked in and attacked Louie. "GET THE HELL OFF ME!" Louie yelled, still managing to fight back despite being overpowered. With bruises forming on his face and body and blood starting to spill, Louie still built up the willpower to kick one of the goons off him and get back on is feet. However, one of the hoodlums that were assaulting Max snuck away from the beating, making his way towards Louie with a weapon in hand. Max saw the thug sneak away, and the item Max saw him holding filled him with dread. "LOU! WATCH Y-" Before he could even finish, Max took a boot to his jaw. Louie turned around to find the thug behind him. Before he knew it, Louie had a beer bottle broken across his face at full force, striking much blood and knocking him unconscious. After yet another hooligan decided to change his target, what subsequently ensued was a ruthless onslaught against the helpless young drake; 6 brutes against 1 helpless victim.

Minutes of abuse passed and the remaining two delinquents finally put an end to the beating. Max laid on jagged concrete, bruises on his face, jaw was swollen, and blood from his forehead, nose, and mouth was staining his treasured red hoodie. "It's on you," the leader uttered to his comrade, handing him a stainless steel Desert Eagle pistol. "You set em up, so now it's time to finish the job. Toe tag his ass and you got your first stripe, homie. You'll be down with the crew." "Hold up," the associate in crime responded, taken aback by the request, "You for real? I thought you said we were supposed to hit 'em up for whatever cash they had. And if they run up, we jump 'em. You didn't say shit about catchin' a body tonight!" The gang leader couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You must be shittin' me! See, I thought you wanted to be part of the squad! Thought you were down to ride! Bitch ass. Just pass ME the burner, then." The leader's slanders to his fellow crew member were sinking in heavily. "Yo, man. You trippin'," he responded. The bloodthirsty leader, however, was quickly losing his patience with the new recruit. "DID IT SOUND LIKE I WAS ASKIN' YOU A QUESTION?! PASS ME THE GODDAMN BURNER, MAN!" The partner scowled at his leader as he held onto the gun, unsure of what to do next.

When he came to, Max noticed that the 6 hoodlums were still viciously beating Louie. He knew there wasn't much he could do but still struggled to his feet in an attempt to stop the goons from causing further damage to his friend.

 _*CLICK CLACK*_

That sound immediately triggered one of Max's worst fears. The leader grabbed Max by his hoodie and slammed him against the wall. Max had no strength to fight back, but even if he did, the results would certainly be fatal; Max was now held at gunpoint by the hot-blooded gang banger. "I'mma give this wall a new coat of paint when I end this shit," the leader hissed, grinning heinously with a glare of madness in his eyes. As he felt the cold steel of the pistol's barrel rest against his cranium, Max could only stare and what would soon be his killer. It seemed as though this was the end for him and Louie both.

Unexpectedly, the sound of police sirens was heard in the distance, and they were gradually getting louder and louder. The flashing blue and red lights reflecting off the streets gave an alarm to the hoodlums. "Shit, it's the cops! Let's bounce!" said one of the gang bangers. As the six thugs that assaulted Louie fled, the recruit noticed that his leader was still aiming his pistol at Max. "Yo, man! Let's get the hell outta here! C'MON!" The recruit pleaded as he exited the alley, hopping a nearby fence his fellow crew members used. The leader glared at Max as he leaned against the wall, reluctantly lowering his firearm. Not before giving Max one last crippling blow to the stomach did the thug finally depart from the crime scene. In a matter of seconds, the police finally arrived at the area…and passed by in that instant. Unfortunately, what was thought to be a police unit was nothing more than an ambulance. Nevertheless, it seemed that luck was on Max's side…for the moment.

His head was pounding. His ears were ringing. His face was in crucial agony, and the taste of his own blood was still slightly fresh on his tongue. In spite of his excruciating condition, Max still knew he had to check to see if his friend was okay. Max staggered over to Louie, who was still unconscious laying on his side. He kneeled down to awaken Louie by lightly shaking him. "Louie. Louie! C'mon, man!" Max said through is muffled lips. "Please wake up!" Louie looked awful. There were splatters of blood all around him. Soft, low breaths scarcely escaped from his mouth. Both of Louie's eyes and jaw were swollen, and he was barely able to see or say anything when he came too. He had a great deal of blood spilling from his mouth, and there was, even more, flowing from the newly opened wound on his head. Upon witnessing his condition, Max knew he had to seek immediate help before it was too late. "Just stay here and hold on, Lou. I'm gonna get some help for us," he mumbled. Through his agonizing state, Max staggered out of the alleyway and looked for assistance, but to no avail. As his last recourse, Max mustered enough energy to walk to the nearby bodega Louie mentioned before the incident. A few feet felt like a few miles in Max's condition, but with their well-being on the line, he persevered. Max may have narrowly survived the life-threatening gang confrontation that night, yet one question remained; would Louie be as fortunate, or would that confrontation tragically seal his fate?

* * *

 _ **Eh. I feel this chapter could be a bit better. BUT, I'm just glad to be writing again! Constructive criticism and feedback are openly welcomed. Tell me where I'm screwin' up, people. Like seriously. With that being said, thanks for passing through. Every little view you give me never goes unappreciated. Deuces and best wishes to you n your's! May 2018 bring excellence to you all!**_


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